Tag: poetry

Posted in Different Thoughts

The War Within (A poem)

Posted on by Wick

I know others have experienced this too.

It is stirring now, the war within. metallic blades each reducing their opponents.

Enforced humility is their harsh reality.
It’s no humility at all.
It is harsh.
The vast expanse before me stirs to life,
Recognizing that which has not met this land for some time now.
There is no time to bow.
It is time to be broken.  
This war is no respecter of persons.
Creatures great and small (mostly small) flee as the war approaches.
Encroaches on the peace they’ve known.
No white flags are flown.

I smile a bit.
Authority surging through me, as I have power to shape my own environment.
Time well spent.
In my wake, a path rent wide,
I look back as pride wells up inside.
Order from chaos, these tiny worlds lost
Without me.
Before me, another creature stirs
Flies away and blurs into nothing.
I wish him well in his new endeavors.
Politely aware that this environment and I exist together symbiotically. 
Even that precious bee, needed me.

And then, I am stung.

  

Posted in Different Moments

Because I was forced to spend time in quiet…

Posted on by Wick

There is quiet.FullSizeRender

It’s not far, but it’s often a world away.
Today, I’ll say there’s no way it could be near. It couldn’t be here.
Because here is noise, busy, and hurry. Here’s worry. The scene is blurry,
And clarity? The lens hasn’t been cleaned for a while. You smile,
Holding tight the commitment you’ve made for tonight.
“I’m doing alright.”

And so are we all, but as Fall turns to Winter you realize,
There might be lies in the Truth. The Truth lies bare when given a moment to spare.
And there, in slow breathing and heart beating, you find it.

There is quiet.

Leaves have turned, and are falling. The silence is calling
For those willing to press pause on the pace, and face a world less moving.
Less proving, and more being. More seeing. Freeing you from shackles unfelt.
Moments melt into Sabbath. You catch your breath. There is life. There is death.

There is quiet.

Breathing deep, drenched in nothing.
Absence that feels like more substance than you’ve had in a while.
You smile, remembering what it’s like to wander.
In body and thought, you’re caught up in wonder, staring at the clouds
As if they contain a story you’re anxious to hear.
You stumble, lost in your surroundings,
A leaf-covered path, the aftermath of Autumn.
Emerging to a lake, you take it all in with a grin
And begin to lose yourself in the wealth found in the surface
Of water undisturbed.

There is quiet.

Heavens reflected in smooth glass
Trees stretching deep down into the sky
Fooling the eye, you sigh.
This is why

There is quiet.

You can’t stay in this place
But you scoop up the pace, and put some in your pocket.
Commit to remember, as you head into November

That there. Is. Quiet.

Posted in Uncategorized

S-wordplay. (a written, spoken word)

Posted on by Wick

He came not to bring peace, but a sword.
Not a knife to spread the butter, not uttering words that pacify the masses
No rose-colored glasses here.
But Truth, Capital “T”, completely free of bend or filter
The off-kilter ways of sin, and what a mess we were in.sword
Valuing money over time, entertained by crime, the signs were all there
Jesus looked it square in the eye, and dared evil to deny –
It was fooling you and I. Sure enough, evil sighed.
More like roared, seeing the sword as wolves surrounded the sheep
Daring Christ to keep each one safe, taunting with flashing teeth
And clenched jaw. But what evil saw next was powerful.
All-powerful God became lamb. Jamming signals of the expected.
Rejected by men, by those He came to save,
Brave wasn’t the aim, the lame walking and the mute talking had one word on their message:
Love.
Not love with construction paper hearts, sweet tarts, and doilies glued on for measure

Not treasure tempting us to come near, appearing like the obviously better choice

But a soft voice, speaking divisive words, beginning with “Follow Me”
Not because it’s easy, because you’ll probably die. And as he cried, he knew
His fate, the plate would not pass from him, nor does it leave our tables,
He enables us to follow, to swallow the red pill, releasing our will to His
And the life that He gives echoes our first breath.
But to the world, looks like death.
And so, a sword.
Man against his father, daughter against her mother, not apologizing
Or making excuses, just revealing what the Truth is,
and the Truth. Is. Love.
The Truth is, it’s enough.
The World wants a conquering savior, flashing sword not meant to divide but to slash and kill.
To spill blood like wolves on dusty ground, but instead? the sound of sheep.
Not threatening, they bleat, and keep following their master in ways of love.
In a “one-up” contest, they’re one-ing down. Setting down crowns of gold,
Crowned with thorns, receiving the scorn of an empire built on sand, no demands
Freed from the burden to sway the uncertain.
Not called to win in His name, but to realize He’s changed the game.
When the swords cease to sound, and fall to the ground, they’ll finally realize
Love abounds.
And they’ll stop fighting for it.