Reflection on Strength

strength.
is that what we need?
to fight on
forge ahead
leave behind.
whatever.
is this what we have come to?
too weak to fight
too weak to resist
too weak to walk on
on our faces more than feet.
strength.
he told me it was what he needed
to stop falling for the same old 
temptations
trials
but more than that
strength to stop seeking
that which should not be sought.
strength?
i think not.
the more we lack
the more we gain.
His 
is better than
ours.

ashes and devils

ashes and devils.

battling the one

has made me the other.

struck a match and the pyre blazed.

i am no more than dust

and the devils laughed.

i expected (as i went down in flames)

to see them all red, with goatees

            pitchforks and tails and horns.

but alas…

            they looked - like me.

and where were you?

dressed in black, crying over my

            self-made urn

with your son sighing, “why did i bother?”

i lied.

they lied.

my eyes lied.

the only one that told me the truth -

            you.

but the devils (my evil twins)

they sounded reasonable, didn’t they?

“nothing matters.  you are damaged goods anyway.”

so i burned.

billows of smoke rising to an overcast sky -

even the stars found me ugly

and closed their rain-filled eyelids.

if i am resurrected, won’t the devils

live again?

such a circle of comedy.  of tragedy.

no.

no phoenix-dream for me.

scatter the ashes to the wind.

let my dust and devils blow away

to make room for something new…

not a father

bitterness stood on the mountain

            opened its hand

                        let the rock

roll down

it struck another

which struck another –

in the end – complete devastation

the girl

            alone

is under that rubble somewhere

God is dead

(it could be said)

by the girl

            alone

who would want a father?

            they cheat

            mistreat

            leave

and righteous anger

ignites

burns bright

            leaves a block

            of ice

but he has many names besides Father

            there is one

            meant just for her

a name she can trust

we must

help her find him

she is done with fathers

the rumbling rolling rocks

bounced battered bruised

            each cut, scrape, purple mark

            the result of what a father is like

            to her

what she needs

            mud in her eye

            the hem of a robe

            the stirring of waters

            a handout of fish and bread

            a “peace be still”

            a simple word

            a calling forth

            a miracle

perhaps of the bulldozer kind

to move the stones that cascaded and tumbled

down the mountain of her heart

since you are in the stone moving business

nickel wound, earth bound

nickel wound

stretched across the wood

bound and pulled

as she was

sharp, flat

whole step, half step

she sought to dance

on light feet

but gravity hates flight.

now so does she.

“get your head out

of the clouds.”

and she did.

flightless birds are sad birds

jealous birds

and a guitar strums a

beautiful tune on the

stretched strings,

while those in the package

have no song.

Orbit

Strong-willed walls built high

He sees - he hears 

     but the choice is made.

Like the old man who swears

     the Earth is the center

     while Michelangelo shows 

     proof against

But the planets make their orbits

     like salvation around a son.

A son that burns bright, and I pray that light

     will penetrate a cloudy soul

     to change the choice.

- for S.T. 

Mongolian Orphans

The following was written in Ulaan-Bataar, Mongolia after visiting a government-run orphanage.


They sit together, alone
clinging to strangers
     hoping... ever hoping
to find the elusive -
that which is patient and kind
     and keeps no record of wrongs.
wilted flowers all
     groping for life
    for beauty.
I saw it with eyes opened
     that had been closed.

Just Me

Just Me

They look to me to teach them.

Some of them truly believe

That i am wiser than others they know,

That i am more than “just me”

I’m hoping that i can show them

That there is so much more

Than making an “A” for their captain.

More than just a good score.

And what of that old lady begging?

Could my spare change possibly be

A way to show her how my Jesus loves

Beggars like her, fools like me?

I’m hoping that someone will stand here

By my side so we can be strong.

But even if i’m an Outsider alone,

I will never stop singing Your song

So if i try to love like You do,

Then perhaps i can be

A little more than simply a fool

And something more than “just me”