Up on the rooftop
A shadow does pause,
Dim fire-light shivering
On small knives, like claws.
A black cloak flutters
Like wings in the night,
Muffling her features
From any chance light.
Weak moonlight catches
The gleam of a sword,
Giant ruby in the hilt,
A weapon worthy of a lord.
A second, larger shadow
Joins the one before;
Smoothly gliding forward,
Watching the boats come ashore.
I feel so conflicted
And yet so in love
But am I just afflicted
When push comes to shove
I can't say it out loud
I can't speak what I mean
Maybe I'm too proud
To ever come clean
I don't want to hurt
Either myself or you
You wouldn't be the first
That I've shown my colors to
But will you be the last
And perhaps be the one
To acknowledge my past
And show me how it's done
Can I forgive myself
For the hurt I will cause
Or will I keep running
While you try to cut your loss
A world deeply crushed and broken
Bending under the heavy weight
Of wickedness, and destruction
Envy, lust, and terrible hate
Utter shock at the truth, mouths drop
Lives are shaken, and worlds are rocked
At evil’s power that won’t stop
Wicked hearts, shut up and locked
Sin and pride, the love of power
Hatred spikes with limitless scope
Trying to snuff every flower,
Every glimmer of truth or hope
The ice-frosted grass glistens in the soft light of dawn. Glassy beads of dew bend the slender, white blades—bowing, as it seems, to hail the morning. Thrills of anticipation ring in my chest. I close my eyes, imagining the first step to mar the pure whiteness; the delicious, crisp odor of the air stinging my lungs; the satisfying crunch of ice as it crumbles beneath my feet. Shivers of delight course through my veins.
I force my lids to lift.
Quarantine
Masks and evasive glances
Huddled groups
And
Spaced out picnics
Long lines for household needs
Hurricanes
Then rainbows
Promises of hugs
Smiles through technology
And waves across the hall
~
Lazy days and lunch in bed
Blankets on the couch and
Romantic comedies
Popcorn and dark chocolate
Date nights in, and
Homemade steak
Drive-through milkshakes
Walks down empty city streets
Holding hands with
My love
~
“Is love a fancy, or a feeling? No.”
This line from Hartley Coleridge’s Sonnet VII is the basic sum of what I’d like to write about today.
Although some forms of love include feelings and fancies, they are not true love. Love in its purest form goes far beyond feelings and fantasies.
I'm fine now,
don't you cry.
I'll see you soon,
it's not goodbye.
Remember I'm
always in light,
when you miss me
in the dead of night.
Remember how
much fun we shared.
Remember how
much that we cared.
In our love,
we'll never part.
You'll always have me
in your heart.
Don't you worry,
I'm in God's love,
here in heaven
up above.
I'm fine now,
don't you cry.
I'll see you soon,
it's not goodbye.
*I just read a testimony of a young man whose wife had an abortion without telling him that she was ever pregnant. It damaged their relationship so badly and it looked like nothing could fix it. Through a lot of prayer and the miraculous birth of their second child, they came back together. Neither of them knew just how much pain the other was going through after the abortion. It breaks my heart to know how many fathers have NO say in the decisions that take their child's life.
Boats slipping cross a river
In the deep dark of night
Cold but determined soldiers
Sailing to a new fight
A country just blooming
Struggling to survive
Would they wither and die
Or succeed and then thrive?
“Why do you do it?”
“For justice and liberty,
To protect our fam’lies,
To form a new country!”
Rows of weary soldiers
Far from home and fam’ly
But to rise or to fall,
To charge and fight, ready
It was his turn to light the fires that night.
They ranged around the base of the blank wall of stone etched with the small carvings, the memories of those who had come back.
So many had not.
He could still remember when their little corner of the world had been discovered by the Empire, the little corner where it was ordinary to be extraordinary, where everyone had a gift. They had been useful, of course.
Too useful. And even when the old autocrat had fallen and they were finally free, too few of them had come back. Far too few.