CROAK

In the distance I hear singing;
From where exactly, I can’t be sure.
I zip and zag from side to side—
Triangulation.
Finally I find them, huddled around the lake
In their fortress which lies on the edge,
Secure,
Sealed,
Sound.
A massive chorus is in session,
But I have made a mistake;
This concert was not for guests,
Rather solely for the singers’ edification.
Another blunder makes itself apparent:
This is no mere choir;
They are warriors,
And they are organized.
A cry goes up and the soldiers retreat
Into the castle,
Behind the walls.
The choir falls silent,
One by one,
Two by two;
Rapidly,
Suddenly.
A lone watchmen is left, calling out the news:
“The stranger stands,
He has not left.
Hold your ground, and we shall see what comes of him.”
I stand and wait,
I am watched, I know it.
Finally, I decide to move on,
Wandering out of the valley and into the setting sun.
The gates are opened;
The chorus continues.

HONK

A few families scurry by,
Proud parents, all but two.
One couple herds 8 children along,
Trying to not lose the slow one
Who seems more intent on studying his shoes.
I wave;
He looks up,
But his parents warn him away.
Men dressed all in black are not to be trusted.
I keep quiet and seem kindly enough
Though, so they don’t make much of a fuss.
They continue on, the mother holding her head high;
Let her be judged for such a brood;
She couldn’t care less.
They are hers,
She nearly glows.
Behind come a few more parental units,
Pleased as punch,
Content with 5;
A quintet is plenty.
Their heads also nod and bounce a little
Enjoying the day—
Leading the way.
In the rear follow 2;
Solo, looking mournful.
Spring was not kind this year.
Following along they look wistfully at the others,
Their children dressed in yellows and oranges and browns.
If only they could have one.
But they are civil,
They are proper,
They have each other;
That is enough.

Before the Crown

Dear Lord, my bones are weak
My stomach’s filled with stones
I’ve been told you love the meek
But dear God, I’m so alone

Dear Son, I know your pain
I’ve borne the same disgrace
Be careful not to place the blame
Outside its proper place

Dear Lord, I know I oughtn’t
Point fingers and deride
But is this anguish all my fault?
Can I still in You confide?

Dear Son, you know me faithful
I always have been true
But you must be grateful
E’en when paths aren’t clear to you

Dear Lord, I’m losing strength
The world says that You’re wrong
It ridicules You at length
And I begin to feel I don’t belong

Dear Son, I love you everyday
I’ve held you close always
And this is where I mean to stay
Until one day I raise

Up above this broken shell
And ring in new life with golden bell
The stories shattered, this I know
But death will be dealt a final blow

I’m fighting still, though king I be
Stand by my side and slay with me
My enemies are not all gone
Death and hell still sing their song
Of hate and pain and lust and pride
Of all the souls to whom they lied
They make my demands seem hard and cruel
But this is their dance, their fiendish duel

You’ve turned and fled, hiding in the earth
Now the devil laughs his charmless mirth
Will you let him have the final joke?
Or will you let Me crush his throat?

I’ve had to pry open your hand
And take when you don’t understand
For how can I place in your palm,
A gift, a present or a psalm,
When you hold tight and won’t let go
And let me love on you bestow?

Dear Lord, I beg You to forgive me please
I was too willing my own pride to seize
I pray You now let me fall asleep
Let me breathe and dream and silence keep

Let me find peace in a life
That is not so filled with self and strife
Let me worship and bow down
Let me kneel before the crown

Heart of Snow

Fingers cold
It's not snowing
Feeling old
But it's not snowing
Weak and weary
High of 70
Dark and dreary
Time to get out the paddles
Time to jumpstart the machine

The snow is somewhere else
But the drifts are piling up against my soul
The snow is miles away
But the sludge is plugging the holes
Time to melt it all
Turn the heaters on
God melt this heart of snow

I'd like to think I'm superman
That I'm the hero
That I'm the savior
But I'm nothing of the sort
Everyone builds themselves up so tall
So strong, so mighty
But they're nothing of the sort
They're nothing of the sort

Look inside, they feel it too
We all face our demons
We're all craven cowards
When the chips are down we all show our stripes
Kill your demons, burn your idols
Watch the future flower
Give up the power
The power you think you have

We're all chasing something
We're all chasing someone
We fight and fight and usually we fall
Because we bet it all
Without stopping to ask questions
Without leaning
Leaning
Leaning
Leaning
Leaning on the only One who matters
God the Savior
Lord the Maker

Go ahead, rail against my logic
Tell me I'm lost
Tell me I'm forgotten
I know it's a lie
And you know you lie too
Stop trying to stand up so tall
You just set yourself up to fall
Give up that heart of snow
And lean

My Legs Hurt

I'm not used to standing up. I'm bookish. It's the definition of college life, or at least the kind of rigorous college life that I have lived in the midst of for the past 2 plus years.

My legs hurt.

I suddenly feel not just mentally, but physically tired when going to bed.

My legs hurt.

I like it... it lets me know I'm alive. When I stop feeling pain, when I stop feeling altogether, then I will be worried. But not until then. I run the race. A tired cliche. Pile another on top until they are towering like a precarious stack of Jenja blocks. "Stop the flow of nonsense!" they cry. I laugh a little inside.

My legs hurt.

The weird thing about muscles is that when you use them for the first time they really hurt, but one of the best ways to make them cease to hurt is to use them again in the same way soon after the hurt begins. Looks like I'm going to go lift some more boxes today.

My legs hurt.

Write poetry. Praise God. Live... "it's all you can do."