Author: faithhealthandmusings

When life offers us so rich a bounty of inspiration, how can we help but to reflect in writing all that climbs into our hearts and takes up residence there?

On Clinging to Life

I cling to life

with white knuckles,

because it’s the only

thing I’ve ever known.

But, is that a good reason

to cling to something,

because it’s the only thing

you’ve ever known?

Wordsmith Wednesday: Poem XVI

“What do you have to offer me?” she asked.

Nervously, I answer:

“I function within an economy

of words,

and I can offer you

a library

of books

written about the way

you look tonight.”

 

Touchstone Tuesday: Poem XI

Dizzy,

I run my fingers through your hair,

thinking that

you press

further through me

with every stroke.

I think

I am playing with your hair,

but it is me,

me,

who is being played with.

On Love & Mourning

I have mourned you

for as long

as I have loved you;

for, from the moment

you became my heart,

I knew that,

someday,

my chest would

never be

that full again.

 

(What will I do with my eyes when they can’t look at you?)

 

On Sacrifice

During those moments

of fleeting humanity,

I reject painful sacrifice,

but then I recall the truth:

it is my highest honor

to do something,

for my God,

that hurts.

Firestone Friday: Poem XV

Consumed by deadlines.

Buried in unmet dreams.

Burdened by rejections

that press me farther downstream.

From beneath the water,

I greet the stones with a grin,

for it takes water in your ears,

to hear the voice within.

The Whisperer makes to speak,

and tells the wearied me,

that the things for which I labor

hold not my identity.

The essence, the potentialities,

the soul, and the heart,

your daily triumphs and your failures

hold not even part.

Mocked

Can you beleive

how they mock me

for the way that I speak?

“Logan uses big words now.”

There’s nothing so

beautifully individual

as one’s pattern of speech,

the path to self-expression,

the words that hang on your lips,

whispering to the listener

the secrets about who you are

and where you’ve been.

It’s ok if I’m sad,

but weird if I’m morose or sullen.

It’s normal if I’m happy

but too much if I’m euphoric.

I won’t reduce my language

just so that you like the sound if it.

 

(I don’t, and would not, hurl insults at another’s self-expression, and I won’t carry shame — or ignominy, if you don’t mind — for mine.)

Wordsmith Wednesday: Poem XV

I looked around

the gymnasium,

thinking that, perhaps,

I had nothing

— an entire absence

of thoughts —

in common

with the humans around me.

I determined to find a

thread common

among us.

Finally, I posited to myself,

“well, everyone here

must foster

an identical faith,

a faith that says

the ceiling

of the gymnasium

won’t collapse

onto the floor

tonight.”