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Poetry by Shigé Clark

"Let the battered heart rejoice"

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hopeful

Throwback Thursday: A Life Unchained

a life unchained

A Remnant Remains

I wrote this in honor of a dear friend and great man, Philip List Jr. No poem could capture the power of his legacy. But as we honored his life, and his amazing family stood before us in unity and strength even amidst their sorrow, I was struck with the last words of this piece. So this is for him and for them.
“A Remnant Remains.”A Remnant Remains

Better Things

Better Things

A Life Unchained

A Life Unchained

Burning Hope

Please understand,
It hurts, ah, it aches
To dream so greatly.
To yearn so deep.
I am being consumed from the inside.
I am a walking fever,
My blood boils with excitement,
Or anxiety, who can tell?
My heart is a volcano,
Erupting scalding lava-love
Burning down my skin,
The heat of hope.
What if, what if
Life mustn’t be miserable?
What if, what if
The dream read into my head at childhood,
“Once upon a time, there was a girl
Who did what she dreamed…
Who lived what she loved….”
Was not a fairytale?
But ah, the flame,
Blazing so bright within me
It encompasses all,
Yet I am so small, that
It feels no more than a candle in a storm.
So fragile, so easily extinguished!
I beg you pick me up,
And carry my light.

– s. Clark

One Day Soon

One day soon

The darkness will have had its time,
And in one fell and joyous tear,
Love’s hand will lift us from the grime.
The hurt that we know now will cease,
The scars and stains of earthen wear,
Will be at once replaced with peace.

The corporate failure of the fall,
The underlying fear and shame,
The deep injustice known to all,
Will slip away from soul and thought,
As each of us is called by name
To Him for whom we each were bought.

The ties of bitterness and grief
Will suddenly be cloven down,
And spirits soaring in relief
Will fly, all rising for the stars.
And each of us will bow to crown
The One who knows and cleansed our scars.

One day soon.

– s. Clark

Dawn of Hope

Hope blooms painful
Like a rose within the heart
Unfolding in fearful transition
A hesitative start
Hope rises slowly
Like a wounded bird to fly
Thought grounded dead, but
Newly gazing toward the sky
Hope sings softly
In croaking, unused voice
Gaining harmony in trust
A pain, a fear, a choice

– s. Clark

The face of Hope is old as time,
All wizened in its waiting
While through his cracked and weathered skin,
He smiles unabating.

– s. Clark

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