Poetry

Her beauty

HER BEAUTY

Her eyes shine like diamonds,
even when filled with tears.
Her smile rivals the sun,
even when upside down.
Her voice blends in with the birds in the
morning, even when it cracks.
Her walk turns everyone’s heads,
even when her energy is low.
Her hands provide the softest of touches,
even when they are trembling.
Her aura is full of love and positivity,
even when surrounded by hate.
Her personality is always bubbly,
even when the room has gone flat.
Her love is similar to the comfort of the softest pillow,
even when sharp and deadly.
Her mind is as powerful as a computer,
even when it breaks down.
Her soul speaks louder than her words,
even when it is hidden.
Her heart is caring and loving,
even when it is broken.
Her heart is sensitive and vulnerable,
even when it is locked behind barriers.

She is beautiful,
even when she doesn’t truly see it.
.

boy, butterflies, couple-1312796.jpg

A LOVE LIKE THIS

Have you ever had someone look at you
Like you were the sun?
Beautiful and fiery.
Passionate and addictive.
Our love was fast and hard.
Explosive and tender.
It erased who we thought we were and made us new.
It made us one.
It connected us, vessel to vessel.
I am reaching out, and I fit perfectly.
I think of him, and I no longer feel alone.
We are one. I am a part of him, and he is a part of me.
Not only through physical intimacy,
but our souls, our minds and our hearts
embedded onto the blueprint of the other.
Although a comfortable pace and routine remain now,
the fire still burns.
I feel it. I know he does, too.
I don’t need him to live and breathe.
He breathes life into my spirit.
He does not define me.
My heart’s love for him is defined by who he is.
Knowing he is living and breathing on this planet,
even apart, makes me feel safe.
It makes me feel that all is right in this world.
He is the moon to my stars.
The sky to my sun.
Magnificent apart
But
Exceptionally wonderful together.
hourglass, time, rock-7704146.jpg

TIME

Do you realize that time never stops?
It’s always moving.
Sometimes it flutters by like a butterfly
And other times it strolls past, in no rush
With all at ease.
But it is always moving forward.
Changing.
Even when we don’t.
Especially when we don’t.
Time keeps moving.
It truly waits for no one
It doesn’t check or looks back
To see if you’re following or keeping up
It doesn’t shout back and tells you to hurry up.
Time is it’s own master

And you can either be it’s slave
Or it’s partner

It feels no pity for you
It doesn’t share in your joy when you make it
It doesn’t get angry when you ask it to wait or slow down
Time is determined
It is disciplined
It is silent in its dominance
It knows nothing of excuses or procrastination
It changes days and seasons
It moves with purpose and answers to no one
Time has no attachments
It does not love
It does not own
It does not desire
And in that lies it’s power.

everything beautiful

EVERYTHING BEAUTIFUL

Everything beautiful is what I desire
Walking on the beach, shoes in hand
A sunset or sunrise peeking over the horizon
Rainy days in a warm library
I smell old and lovely books before I even turn their pages
Long walks with no destination but everywhere to explore
Fields of wildflowers, long stretches of open land
And the purest of air I can breath
I desire to get away from the hustle and bustle
The concrete jungle, if you will
I want to create snow angels and see thousands of stars
Shine back at me as I lay on fresh-cut grass
The life I desire is simple
Close but somehow still out of reach
It is everything beautiful
Mountainous views that seem as if they reach right up to heaven
It is almost like it is God’s footstool
Everything Beautiful
Everything that brings peace, serenity, love and joy
That is what my heart desires.

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I STILL LOVE SAD POEMS

I still love sad poetry.
I love to know that hearts are still able to heal after suffering.
It brings me comfort to know that loneliness doesn’t last.
I smile when I think Spring comes after Winter,
and the sun still rises in the morning.
I still love sad poetry.
It brings me hope when days are long and nights are cold.
I still believe in new beginnings when I read stanzas of tears on a page, and I see broken hearts in the smiles of strangers.
I still love sad poetry.
I still write sad poetry.
It makes me feel, and it makes me think,
and it helps me remember the days when I wasn’t sad.

Poem, Jesus, love, joy

JESUS, MY SAVIOUR

Broken, beaten, and bruised,
Alienated, ashamed, and forgotten,
I found myself on my knees,
No beauty, no prettiness,
Crushed by fear too heavy to bear.

Then you reached out your hand,
Your garment, my lifeline,
Thirsty, you quenched me with living waters,
Bruised, you touched me, and I was healed.

Hopeless and heartbroken,
You opened the floodgates,
Washing me clean,
Because of you, Jesus, I am saved.

Faithful God,
God of Mercy,
Jehovah Jireh, my provider.
God of grace, righteousness, joy, and love

You are the centre of my joy,
My life, my anchor, my compass,
Your presence is holy,
I cry out to you in the heavenly language,
I praise you with all that I am,
I give you all that I have.

In my troubled season,
When it seems I’m surrounded,
Jesus, you make a way,
God’s promises prevail, and He sets me free.

The world may enslave me,
But Jesus Christ is my Saviour!

Submarine, Titanic, Ocean, Oceangate

SUBMARINE

I never imagined going down 13 thousand feet into the ocean,
cold and dark all around, trapped in a small space with only four other souls.
Claustrophobia and anxiety heightened.
Yet here I am, I walked right through the gate of the ocean.
Slowly running out of air, knowing each breath, I take is bringing me to my last.
Not knowing what day it is, not knowing what is happening in the world above.
Should I keep fighting? Should I preserve my energy?
Should I pray for a quick death?
Is someone coming? Are they close?
There is total blackness.
Just total blackness.
Life, death, and air are swimming around me; only one is within reach.
The faces of the others staring back at me; who will go first?
Who will be the one to consume the very last bit of oxygen?
Billions of dollars made and spent over a lifetime, only to die alone at the bottom of the ocean.
I think about this on the surface, making me realize that life must be better navigated.
What will they find when they finally reach us?
Our decomposed vessels? An empty submarine? Or nothing at all.
Our story is forever anchored to history’s most extraordinary and tragic sunken ship.

Church, Jesus, God

MY SUNDAY JESUS

I visit God on Sundays
and always wear my best
I walk into the church, humble in heart
and pray to repent for my ungodly ways
I meet my Jesus on Sundays
To shout Amen and hallelujah
and say a rushed and quiet goodbye
at the end of the service
I forget or maybe choose not to call on Jesus
the rest of the week
I’m ashamed to say I can be a once a week
check-in, kinda-girl;
and forget my God is always willing
From Sunday to Sunday
and every minute in between
My God doesn’t just visit on Sundays
but patiently waits to be invited
in every single day
And yet, I ignore the call and pretend I’m not home
as if He is an unwanted guest wanting something from me
Forgetting I can get all I need just by talking to Him
I visit God on Sundays
and walk into the church
quiet and reserved
Ashamed to say out loud,
I’ve ignored Him all week long
I sing His praises and say the right words in prayer
but most heavy on my heart
is that I forget my God is always there
From Sunday to Sunday
In the church, in my home,
and always everywhere

tears, sadness, grief

TEARS

Tears
My tears are not hot and dry
they are not hidden behind my eyes
or stuck in my throat
They are an overwhelming ocean
a riptide of emotion
My tears are powerful and visible
for all to see
They dare not hide
My tears are ever present
Always available
I am never without
My tears are worthy of
accolades and applause
My tears are not forced or fake
They are real and organic
Constantly flowing
ravaging whatever stands in its way
My tears have a life of its own
Ever present and commanding
Causing you to turn your head when
they make their presence known

This poem was originally published by Quillkeepers Press in the Rearing in the Rearview poetry Anthology.

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EVENTUALLY

It’s going to hurt until it no longer does.
It’s going to tear at you and pull you apart
Until you learn to put yourself together again.
Eventually all this will just become a distant memory.
Eventually the pain will disappear.
Your hands will stop shaking.
You will breathe again.
Eventually
You’ll stop searching and start appreciating.
You’ll stop waiting and wishing.
You’ll stop regretting and start living.
Eventually you’ll stop blaming yourself and start forgiving yourself,
Eventually.
It might not happen today.
But it’ll happen,
Eventually.