Released

ladysslipperbabysteps.jpg

Released from the tomb, from the Winter which froze you,

Freed from the Dark, from the fears which enclosed you,

Raised from the earth, from the cells that opposed you,

Green with the gleam of creation;

Vanquish this shell, this mere skin that confined you,

Stretch past the trials that sought to unbind you,

Run to your Saviour, whose heart bled to find you,

Fly toward heaven’s ovation.

My heart aches tonight, but I know that you are in the Presence of perfect Love at last, and that I cannot begrudge you, my sweet friend…

In memory of Marcy Payne

 

 

 

 

Sleeping Beauty

baby iris

 

Long has she lain,

poisoned by an apple

that should never have reached Eden.

The kiss, when it comes,

stirs,

wispy, a dream that eludes

upon rising;

it revives the tender recollection

that she waits,

not for an awakening,

but for a

Resurrection.

Thick Skin

Not newborn skinpuddle ice, this.

Calloused, thick,

Barrier excludes blood

From heart of stone

Lest it beat and fulfill its function.

Stubborn film rejects sunshine,

Warmth,

Content to stagnate frozen

In primordial ooze

Lest the mess that lurks beneath

Be exposed, raw in its stench.

Your skin has kept emotions contained,

Given you a measure of control

Over the uncontrollable.

See here, the crown of thorns

Which pierces hearts of ice.

Take hold of the spear

Which alone penetrates

Thick skin.

Be melted.

Drip with awe.

And watch your dirty little secrets

Dry up and turn to dust

Before the Light of the World.

Counterpoint

fallen leaves

 

There’s nothing remarkable

about giving Gravity

his way, nothing noteworthy

about this free-fall; no great

burden of excellence hangs

about the necks of the damned

as they rot in earthen graves.

.

Falling is too natural

to draw comments from the stands,

stumbling too easy to raise

an eyebrow or stir surprise.

So when she rose from the dead,

walked away from the compost

in her burnt orange platform

heels, she really stepped it up.

You Call My Name

deadnettlelight.jpg

You call my name in the garden,

in tones of purest sunshine.

I hear,

and come out of my tomb,

my ears cradled

in the radiance

of this voice

that can wake the

dead.

*

Spotted Deadnettle in bloom

For a devotional on this topic, visit Growing With God in My Garden

Embers Mark Your Dying Days

Embers mark your dying days;

heat pastes brilliance to ruddy cheeks

as you burn out –

but what an ending!

You go out with a bang,

knowing that

even Death

cannot hold you long…