Pockets

A day at a time

A tear that will dry

There is a reason,

There is a season

But still there is despair

A hug to say all is fine

A word of encouragement

To calm a racing mind

But there will still be that moment

Hands in pockets, and emptiness felt

Such is a revisiting sorrow

That comes in waves

Such is a daunting anxiety

That comes uninvited

Such is the guilt felt

For shifting the mood

So I ask that you bear with me

You jolly soul, best friend, confidant

One day it may be well

One day the pockets may be filled

With something other than emptiness

Something worth remembering,

Something that will carve a smile

Inspired By Thaxted

Dawn sweep away the perils

That chided me in sleep

Praying and crying out, though nasal

My Saviour, He hears me weep


Turned on side, pillowing my fears

The stillness, so loud, envelops

Reminded of a hymn to repress the tears

Gathering courage, to never give up hope


The day is bursting through

And the remnants of night, they fade

Flee away you woe, perhaps one or two

For today we choose joy, and will not trade

Undoing

To know that, she’s had you

Over and over

I want to understand

When you say you’re committed

Just how many times must I have you

To teach your body something new?

I say that I’m fine, but these words…

Need undoing , revealing that I’m not

Blues

In a world of chaos

Some are choosing their blues

The big ones, the little ones

And they ponder in recluse

So be wary and considerate

That you know not their fate

For some have slept

Only to wake and walk

Walking, but not existing

For some have dreamt

A thousand dreams, yet still sulk

Moping in misery

And for some, they are hoping

For a glimpse of a miracle

Hands clasped tightly

As they mumble prayers of petition

And as for the writer,

She cries out for reassurance

Tonight, feeling weighted more

By the littlest of blues

Night of…

Night of laments

So why do I see the stars?

For every mistake, a choice I made


Night so contoured

Why do I sense hope?

The haze, slowly fading into the horizon


Night, of…restoration

Certainly must be

Regrets are in the distant

How many more sighs

Gone are the hours of yesterday

And dawn, knocks behind the window pane

Before we let her in,

There are some matters to resolve

A worrisome heart and a pondering mind


Loud is the silence

But louder is The Voice

Beseeching and reassuring,

That we worry not about the morrow

And spare some minutes to rest


But stubborn as we are,

Owing to our human nature

We toss, turn and fret

And try to reconcile with hope,

With one question taunting, “How many more sighs, Lord ?”

Doubt

Babies, pure till they meet the world

But what is and isn’t doubt, before it’s stripped ?

We only then will know

When the medium that bears it

Is cast away


Drumroll, drumroll please…


I give you, present to you, the benefit of doubt

Let the innocence of the white snow

Make all seem without flaw

Let their footsteps

Reveal a sense of direction


But in reality

There is a story to every footstep

There is no doubt, but this, you do not see

Till the snow melts away

Till the footsteps no longer tread one way


Till the footsteps of a stripped innocence

Come knocking at your door

In an unexpected cold winter

To serve you back

Leaving no doubt, whatsoever

Still

Be still,

But this is a different kind of stillness

I am still, but restless

At night, a laying place for my worries

A morning, just a morning

Lonesome obstacles placed in my way

I am tense and life seemingly grey

Rowing a boat in uncertain tides

Night falls, time to be still

But where is peace to be bestowed on me?

A bonfire night, an angry sea

That is how the day ends, still, but not that STILL

Laden

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Photo credit: @pkopoku (Instagram)

 

Come all, weary and laden

They, that breathe heavy

They, with their hope shredded to bits

They, who are laden

You are not alone

Park lights have gathered their embers

The swish of branches, held back till soon a time

Laden, you and this park

Hold on to faith, weary child

Just as the taut ambience

Holds on desperately to the still air.

Beauty Is Beast

Listen good to her whispers faint,

Be fooled not by her guise, sly

Not all that glitters, is gold

For a past once haunted a saint

And there is such a thing,

That Beauty is beast.

 

She wears her heart on her sleeve

And in the depth of night, cries herself to sleep

Not all is told in a picture’s caption

Her cupboard of skeletons is creaking.

And there is such a thing,

That Beauty is beast.

 

Trouble in paradise, yet supposed nonchalance,

That rainbow of a smile veils her gloom.

Not all roads, have been to greener pastures,

She holds all in, but the cracks dance

And there is such a thing,

That Beauty is beast.