In my lover's eyes, the beautiful intricacies
of composition beyond random chance
In human life born from love given by grace
held by unworthy hands, loved with a corrupt heart
In an infant boy, swimming alone, but not alone
and back home safe
A smile with freckles and dimples and charm
with a soft voice whispering, "I love you"
In a perfect flight, a perfect group, squeaky shoes
the tight grip of my finger
In a premature baptism in Hefei, a glimpse
of the hope of salvation, a glimpse of His heart for the orphans
Orphans no more, though without a father, not without the Father, heirs to all hope and glory!
I love your blog and look forward to more writings!
ReplyDeletePoem I wrote, not quite inanimate.
ReplyDelete"Waiting for the Train"
You’re at the mix of man
Feeling existence and understanding
What life is finally all about, never within full understanding
Tears, fear, loneliness, happiness, and hope, a blend of contradiction.
All felt fully at the same time, inexplicably and macabre.
Cash your check at the first bank you see
Regardless if it clears in the morning everything will be ok
Life is an effortless hourglass no need to flip
Standing at the precipices you draw back and flash
Everything is a glacier in a desert, potential.
Still feeling sealed like a ship in a bottle bound for open sea.
Grab a life preserver and through it on, life boats are gone.
Sinking like the rock, you once drew from, hours are for fools.
Shake it and guess, scrabble in my minds visions.
Lending clarity to my life’s purpose is memory, all remaining.
Fact or fool, a guitar strings strum, tuning to my thoughts.
Blowing leafs through picket fence filters
As if sorting through confining division
Bastions blown, castles shot to rubble, no longer coddled.
Shelter is an allusion wise men speak of to keep us lonely.
Shudder and find warmth in the huddle of the masses.
Escaping the blender of confusion in mistakes of multitudes.
Cancel my checks and cash me out, I’m waiting for the train.
It's not on time, but its destiny is written on digital boards.
Making promises to the weary, I rest in dependency of its definition.
Don't forward my mail, I won't be staying long and shall never return.
Deserts are for wandering, my train departs, weary wanderers all aboard.
Tremble shiver, callouses bleed, feel my scars, let me breathe again.
If the realms of coffers rise up, that is what twists keen stomachs.
They fathom not what is written breathed and course.
Truth requires no salesmen, carny, or broker, I see the tracks.
I hear the horn and know its certainty, while timing the seconds like minutes.
The doors will open this is the stop they sigh heavy in their desperation.
Longing for direction, I stand and hear the knock, all aboard.
Nice, Aaron! Creative--keep the pen a rollin'!
ReplyDelete