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Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

Surrender

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It’s the day you wake up and admit

it’s not working.

 

Your feet hit the floor in the same place as always,

but today you feel the thud —

the mechanical grinding as everything starts to move.

 

You’re walking round a racetrack,

promising yourself you’ll win.

But you’ve been at this far too long to believe your own voice.

 

It’s the day you ask the question — why it even matters.

The competition that is.

Everything you believed was important.

 

You can see them all behind you —

the years you spent looking for perfection.

They mock your broken reflection and the

uncertainty of future.

 

It’s the day you finally quit — just stop trying so hard.

Stop caring. Or maybe it’s when you really start.

 

Stepping of the track, you put your hands up

and surrender.

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Written by liferenewed

September 25, 2011 at 3:40 pm

Posted in Life lessons, Poetry

To the one who carried Christ

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Sometimes I wonder what you thought when he told you —

when he delivered the news that would alter your life.

 

“How can this happen?” is all that you asked.

A question of logistics, no hint of disbelief.

 

Sometimes I wonder if you silently protested,

questioning why you were part of God’s plan.

 

“May it happen just as you’ve said — ”

words of submission, no trace of dissent.

 

Sometimes I wonder if you cried that night,

mourning the loss of the girl you had been.

 

“I am the Lord’s servant.”

A statement given without hesitation.

 

Sometimes I wonder how it felt to be pregnant.

To carry the hope of the world inside.

 

“My spirit rejoices in God my savior — ”

Exclamations overflowing with joy.

 

Sometimes I wonder if you knew the weight—

the gravity of these events.

 

“And a sword will pierce your very soul.”

Words you heard

and held

in your heart.

Written by liferenewed

December 26, 2010 at 2:11 am

Posted in Christianity, Jesus, Poetry

Telescope

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“And this is it,” you tell yourself,
one night as you lay still in bed.

The eating and the drinking and the working.
The sleeping to get up and eat and drink and work again.

“This is it,” you say,
trying to put a question mark where there is only the sound of fact.

This is what has become of the small bundle your mother brought home on a sunny day.

This is what has become of dreams—
those things that used to be like telescopes,
always unfolding to make the world bigger.

“This is life.”
The eating and the drinking and the working.
The grasping for significance to find that this day looks much like the one that came before.

“There is nothing new under the sun,” you tell yourself, watching the moon from your closed window, thinking how it seems so small.
So far away.

What happened to the telescope through which you viewed the stars?

“The eating and the drinking and the working,” you repeat,
no longer sure why any of it matters.

“What are the eating and the drinking and the working without the dreams?” you ask,
finally daring to hope that today is not all of life.
Daring to believe that the moon is bigger than it seems.
That it is not out of reach.

You realize now that you always had the telescope.
You were simply holding it upside down.

“This is it,” you tell yourself, as you open the window to discover the stars.
“This is the universe.”

Written by liferenewed

February 24, 2010 at 8:35 pm

Posted in Life lessons, Poetry

Tears for humanity

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The day you reached that place was the first time you cried
for broken humanity.
You’d shed tears before, but they were tainted.
Innocent. But laced with the poison of perfection—
the belief that kills true love.

You didn’t realize at first that you stood in the place of understanding.
The place of confusion.
Black and white met there—
mingling, dancing.
Trying to keep up, you twirled and spun,
until all you could see was gray—
two colors obscured into one.
Indefinite.

Falling to your knees, you reached out to it—
the only color the world had to offer.
What else could you do?
“After all,” you said.
“This is the world.”

And that’s when you first cried.
When you realized that this dance was the world.
And all of humanity was caught inside.
Even your outreached hands couldn’t stop
black from colliding with white.
Impossible.
Much like perfection—
a belief that was now gone.

In its absence, your tears were raw.
Real.
You caught one and held it in your hand.
There, you could see the reflection of humanity.
The reflection of you.

And the dance went on around everyone.
Black, merging with white;
good, coupling with bad.
And in the middle of it all, humanity suffered—
the world mourned, because no one could stop the dance.

“What can I do for them?”
you screamed at the sky,
wishing the world was what you’d always thought it to be.
Wishing that the place of understanding was not also the place of confusion.

But it was.
And you cried there.
For humanity.
For the fact that you too, couldn’t escape the dance;
for the fact that you had nothing to offer the broken world.

Nothing but tears.
Tears you were ashamed of.
Tears that fell because you didn’t know
how to stop the dance,
and because you understood nothing
but confusion.

They were full of imperfection—
the thing that makes tears pure.
And as you cried, they pooled at your feet.
A well of possibility.
Kneeling down to draw from it, you realized,
you could not stop the dance, but you could give water
to the world.

Written by liferenewed

May 24, 2009 at 9:04 pm

To Religion

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I want to hide you, bury you,
to pretend you don’t exist.

If I deny you, will the rooster crow?

Can I pretend I never knew you—
that I never carried your weight?

So heavy, so fake.

Knowledge?
or only pride?

I thought I agreed with you, loved you,
but I see now that you’ve hurt my friends.
Wounded—so many.
All in the name of peace.

Such deception.
How dare you!
How dare!

Life’s a paradox, couldn’t you see that?
Couldn’t you hold the good and the bad,
the pretty and the ugly?

Aren’t you big enough to handle it all?
Couldn’t you acknowledge that we are all the same—humanity?

No.
Dichotomies. Believing lies.

And now, they cry—
those on the other side.
Those who broke the rules,
who weren’t good enough.

They hate you, with good reason.
You hated first.

If I refuse to marginalize based on your dichotomies,
does that make me like them,
unacceptable and wrong?

Now I see what you’ve done to me.
Why I found it hard to love.
Why I was afraid of those who did not think like me—like you.

Oh religion, what do I do with you now?

When I see the scars that bear your name and the hate you justified, I cry.
I take you in my hands and try to crush you.

Will it do any good?
Can denying your existence undo the pain you caused?

No.

“Where is truth?” I ask.
“When religion is wrong, what is true?”

Crying on my knees with my face to the ground,
I ache.

Confusion.

Then, from the darkness, an answer.
Not calm, but true.

“It is finished.”

I look up and see the cross.
And you—religion—you are nailed there.

You’ve already been destroyed.
The one who gave his life brought a better way.

This is what is true.
But we’ve been living like it’s not.

I pick up the cross.
A weight I can carry.

You may deny me, but I will never deny him.

I will take the cross—and what it really stands for—
to those you marginalized,
those you refused to love.

This is true religion.

Written by liferenewed

November 2, 2008 at 12:37 am

Meaning

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I was not strong enough to hold
the tears.
The heavy, colorless
drops.

Dropping without meaning.

I watched them grow into
a river—
an endless body called
the deep.

Deepening into emptiness.

I stepped into the boat
of illusion,
where the lies produce
the color.

Coloring over significance.

I only pretended
to be safe.
Tossed around by the waves
of blame.

Blaming only myself.

I followed the flow
of tears,
trying to keep the boat
stable.

Stabilizing with fear.

I looked around at the
steep cliffs—
places where the illusion
could fall.

Falling without hope.

I knew pretending would
be lost,
buried in the waves
of desire.

Desiring simple truth.

I reached out my hand and
touched the water—
felt what it is like to be
cold and clear.

Clearing away uncertainty.

I stepped into the river,
and let it hold me,
in its clear, colorless
truth.

Written by liferenewed

August 3, 2008 at 5:36 am