Three Course Meal

frozen mango tango

 

pain steals in soft

frozen fangs

tempted by exposed underbelly

plated appetizer

*

 pearly whites gnaw

masticate

savour slow the flesh of broken hearts

 main course destruction

*

faith foamed and frothed

tenderized

redeems gnashed, broken ingredients

  becomes sweet dessert

*

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The Great Reversal

frosty trellis

 

Where once a green and virile vine

Twined its length upon your frame,

Frost has thrust his hoary head,

Icy claws have staked their claim.

*

Do not lose hope as Winter’s grip

Sinks fangs of doom into your heart;

Where once his frozen work remained,

Spring’s greenery will grow her art.

 

 

For What She’s Worth

rosepetals.jpg

 

Fallen, but not discarded.

Her value lies not in her

ability to contain

her chaos within set seams,

clutch remnants when brute tidal

waves beat against her dormers,

but in her audacity

to bloom down in the trenches.

 

Broken Blooms

Broken blooms, please don’t cry,

This stormy wind will soon pass by,

And in your hearts, you must decide

If blooming’s worth the pain.

Broken blooms, your value holds,

Even when life’s loss unfolds;

Though trouble’s tragic wearing scolds,

Your worth is your refrain.

When Ugly is Simply Overpowering

What happens when there is no beautiful?

When that unrelenting pain masks it in a sludge of ugly.  When the sight of spring sunshine isn’t enough to stir a heart pinned down by waves of overpowering torment…

What happen when simply breathing hurts?  When the rise and fall of your rib-cage can’t mask the nagging terror in your chest, or hide the lump of sorrow in your gut, or dismiss the fingers of tension crawling up your spine and lodging in your neck, those  familiar but uninvited guests?

What if this day has left you orphaned by choice, widowed by whim, drawn and quartered by betrayal?

What then?

Where is faith on a day like that?  Where is God when the sky is empty?  Where is this promised beautiful when the ugly is simply overpowering?

This is where the rubber meets the road.  This is where the choice is made – do I allow the ugly to destroy me, or do I seek the beautiful with my dying breath – with all the passion of a pent-up, bruised, and battered soul?

This is when you cling to Psalm 69.  This is when you choose to remember that you are written on God’s palms.  This is when you decide to live, when all you want to do is crawl into a hole and let this slow, methodical hemorrhage bleed you dry and finally put you out of your endless misery.

This is when you remind yourself that your will to live, your drive to seek the abundant life in the mist of such hopelessness, is an entity slowly standing to its feet within you, drawing you ever onward toward the desire for more.  It takes your breath away in its unexpected holiness.  It is a gift of your Creator, on whose hands you are engraved.

And you realize that – it is something beautiful.