Prayers of Hope and Perserverance, VIII

The white wash has faded away
leaving behind a flaking substance
that crumbles with each slant of light.

What others have praised
now resembles a tomb
not with rotten flesh
(for that would show
that something was recently alive)
but with bones of stone
(showing that if life was once there,
it had long ago died away).

My whole life
has been one
of redressing old bones
of beautifying graves
of feeding flesh
but not the soul.

 
But I know
that somewhere
amongst these scattered ruins
something remains alive.
Somewhere a flame burns dimly
flickering wildly in the wind.

Prophesy
I say prophesy
and these bones
will be brought back to life
and the tomb
it
will be destroyed
forever.

Tired

I am tired of this grayness
that never seems to go away
that clouds the sun’s rays
that lurks around every corner
like a robber
waiting to steal
every ounce of joy
every ounce of strength
from one
who has the misfortune
of passing by.

I am tired of
the constant rain
whose pelting drops
not only dampen
the streets of the city
but also the hearts
of the people
making them moldy
and unable to love.

And I am tired of
the mud
the mud that attacks me
as I cautiously trod down the street,
the mud of confusion
the permeates
the mind of everyone near.

But though I am tired
and worn out in this foreign land,
You never tire of me.
You are forever faithful,
forever true.
Your compassion never fails
and Your joy consumes
my frail body,
my frail mind,
my frail soul.

__________________________

This poem was written in Ukraine during a dark time for me.

Ancient Ruins

 

“They will rebuild the ancient ruins and restore the places long devastated…” Isaiah 61:14

I love ancient ruins. My poetic soul sees them as mysterious and ethereal. It is almost as if they were alive and wanted to tell their story.

However, in our lives, ancient ruins are not majestic and beautiful. They are reminders of tragedies or hardship we have endured. They keep us from living the present in peace and do not allow us to dream of the future.

Most people at some point in their lives go through some tremendous hardship. Some people choose to live among the rubble and never heal. Some sweep away the rubble but leave the surrounding area barren. The ruins are glorified as a reminder but nothing new is built. Surface healing has taken place, but new life hasn’t been really restored. Others sweep away the rubble and build many new structures, but a few of the ruins were never knocked down. Perhaps they have been forgotten, but they are still there. Although, new life surrounds them, the ruins themselves were not restored. Then there are those blessed few who have torn down the ruins and have rebuilt the original structure to be a hundred times stronger and more beautiful than before.

However, we need to realize that we can’t rebuild the ancient ruins ourselves. If we do, they will only topple again. They have to be rebuilt and restored for us. Only the Lord Jesus Christ can take what was in ruins and give new life. Only he “can bestow on us a crown of beauty instead of ashes.” (Isaiah 61:3)

My Lord, My God, rebuild MY ancient ruins and restore MY places long devastated!

Windows

I have never broken a window,
toys-yes, hearts-plenty, but never a window.

Brokenness is never really pretty.
There is such a small time to fix it, such a small window.

I remember how I wanted you to stare
into my soul like it was a window.

But you preferred distance, separation
Always wanting something between us, panes in a window.

And when it rained, you refused to get wet,
Always hiding behind the glass of the window.

I am realizing that freedom is abstaining from barriers:
no wall, no fences, no doors, no windows.

Brokenness is not the worst thing.
Faith, imagine a world without windows.

 ________________________________________________

This poem is an oldy but goody. I have always enjoyed this poem.  This poem is in a modified Ghazal (pronounced “guzzle”) form.  I believe it is a Middle Eastern form.  Every couplet you have to repeat the same image.