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Poetic Utterings

Life can be a bitter brew, but not as bold and strong as you.

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God Poetry

In Hatred’s Desolation

In Hatred's Desolation.png

First and Foremost

First and foremost: you.
And all that’s else will follow after.
Even if it feels
Like rushing headfirst to disaster.

 – s. Clark

Good Gifts

Yes, it’s true. I don’t deserve it,
Not a good thing that exists.
But, somehow, my God who loves me,
In His kindness still persists.
Still He presses forth, so faithful,
Rotten though my heart may be,
Loving me beyond my failures,
Giving such good gifts to me.
Have I earned my  life and wellness?
Or deserve such time and care
From the people who surround me,
And the God who put them there?
Though He owes me nothing, truly,
I have learned His gifts come free,
For the goodness of the Savior
Has nothing to do with me.

– s. Clark

Theme Week: Spring – 1

The Thaw

It has been winter so long.
Cold crept in and creaked her bones,
Made her icy to the touch.
She wanted to see the beauty in the snowflakes,
In the shimmer of the endless ice,
But she is buried six-feet deep,
Breathing in shards.
She tried to ward the winter off–
Keep moving, friction forces warmth.
Curled her toes and rubbed her hands together,
Huddled close to someone else’s heat.
But they were temporary flames,
Only candles, blown out in the blizzard of her soul.
Until, unforeseen beneath the grey gloom sky,
The Sun returned. And though so far removed,
Unreachable by tiny, frosted hands,
The strength of its fire lit the sky
And rolled across the earth like liquid gold.
And, softening its strength,
It caressed her frigid fingers. With a crack,
The frozen fissures of her heart are thawed
And melted into clean, spring water.

– s. Clark

Beyond

This world, it is so very short.
This lifespan is so small.
And soon, so soon, I come to Him,
And pass beyond it all.
The hurts and pains are weak refrains
Against His singing call,
Just spider-strands against His hands
That reach beyond it all.
This life is just a shooting star,
So do not fear the fall.
I blaze, I burn. His arms await,
His love, beyond it all.

– s. Clark

Tapestry

What a marvelous mosaic of stories we make.
You must look at the weave of us
And wonder at the artistry of Your work,
The way we intertwine and move among,
Perhaps never knowing.
Perhaps never touching,
But all our varying shades,
The balance of light and shadow in our fibers,
Make us such a perfect painting.
And maybe that is why we feel so ugly,
Zoomed in so closely as we are,
Microscopic. Seeing the speck of grayish blue,
And not the rolling sea beneath a storm.
Seeing the sickly slice of red,
And not the booming meadow of sunset.
Perhaps we threads would not feel so lonely,
So starkly different, so bent and tangled,
So lost within the maze,
If, rather than solitary, twisting twine,
We saw the tapestry.

– s. Clark

God Still Wins

In times that my heart is oppressed
And peace is outpaced by my sins,
What comfort in my battles lost
To know, despite me, God still wins.

– s. Clark

Abide

I forget, I am innately broken.
We are fissured, fractured from the start.
Loving us in depth that can’t be spoken,
You reached out to heal our broken hearts.
But the world around is rent as ever,
And will catch us on its jagged ends,
Am I such a fool that I should never
Reach to find that healing touch again?
Maybe we should not fear to be fractured,
Each day seeking shelter from the harm.
Maybe that’s what keeps our hearts enraptured,
Daily falling on Your steady arms.
Why is it I go so long unaided,
Breaking down, clutching my precious pride?
Help my fickle spirit be persuaded,
Visits won’t suffice, I must abide.

– s. Clark

Theme Week: Christmas – 1

I know that I am so late in posting this, I got caught up in the holidays! I hope you can all forgive me, and that you are having amazing holidays of your own. Love you, my dears, thank you for reading!

This poem “Christmas” is a VERY non-traditional Christmas poem, meant to speak to the reason for the season. I hope you still enjoy!

 

The air tastes sharply of iron
As the dust is tainted red
Frantic shouts across the valley
Rise in notes of mounting dread.
For though we may fight with fervor,
We have met a fearsome foe
Creatures, jagged, black, and snarling,
Tearing through us row by row.

Not a man has stood before them,
They have slain both swift and strong.
In the hundreds we have fallen
To the fury of their song.
For the song was one of darkness,
Draining all our will to stand,
And it soaked into the soil
Like a poison in the land.

Now we pause, bloody and broken,
Some have quit their post and flown,
And the brave are few in number,
While their ranks have only grown.
Faces turn to watch the castle,
Voices cry out for the King.
But with all the length between us,
Who could hear our suffering?

All our swords have fallen heavy,
Trembling, we cower back,
As the monsters roar and cackle,
Setting for the last attack.
Then a shout upon the hillside
Draws our eyes across the land,
Silhouetted by the sunset
Is the figure of a man.

He lifts up his sword, defiant,
Hulking shadow, edged in light,
And he spurs his stead to gallop,
Charging down into the fight.
Raise your heads and see, my brothers,
Shrink away in fear no more,
For we have not been abandoned,
And the King’s son comes to war!

– s. Clark

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