viewingcamelot

I’ve always loved the snow
You paint in pure white
Over the dirty streets, the scarlet sins,
And branding blights,
With fresh hope.
In the pale light
I remember no matter the scar,
The struggle, our plight:
You alone can make all things new.

Grant me the serenity
To accept the world I indwell
All I can’t fix or change,
And the courage as well
To look at hope unflinchingly
And take one step towards the hell
With a vision of heaven.
Grant me the wisdom to tell
Between acceptance and defeat.

And if it pleases You,
Make me new as the fresh snow.

I am where I have always been:
Inscribed on the palm
Of Your powerful hand;
I wait in Gilead for balm
To soothe the wound I can’t understand.

You speak into what is not,
And the impossible bursts forth
Like a fresh fawn eagerly trots;
You point the seamen to true north
By distant, burning blots.

You breathe, and wind troubles the waves,
Babies inhale and cry.
You tell us to be brave
Knowing we will suffer and die,
Because You know beauty outlives the grave.

You wait quietly by my grief
With a capacity to feel beyond my own
You cement my belief
While all I’ve known
Becomes the carousel of a thief.

And my heart is shattered.
My tears have replaced my song.
My love is purple and battered
With nowhere to belong:
The home I built is scattered.

But I know I still reside
Where I’ve always dwelled
Where I always run to hide
From the fumes of hell:
I curl up inside

The palm of Your tender hand.

This nightmare rips me awake
Repeatedly stabbing me
In piercing hatred, I quake
Under the blade, fearfully,
Again, it comes in innocence
And ends in childlike screams
And all good sense
Says it’s just a dream
But I’ve been murdered
A hundred times
And return uninterred
Into the same crime
I wake in the aching strain
Of knowing my little brood
Will suffer the same pain
Will be offered up as the same food
And wakefulness offers no relief
To the blade that devours
Will You sit by my bedside, my belief,
Through these dark, lonely hours?

I wander outside
To avoid this sleep
But there is nowhere to hide
From the company I keep.

Let me make peace with You
On this hallowed day of giving
In which we praise the offshoot of Jesse,
The root of all the living

For You are not like man,
Whose perpetual greed for more
Distorts his days and simple blessings
Your promises are sure

And Your daily bread
Is a feast of rewards.

As sure as the sun
I orbit each year
As a fixed axis
Neither too far, nor near,
A roiling constant
Warming the earth
For the little seeds
Emerging in new birth

So sure are Your promises.

As sure as the ancient moon
Orbiting me with borrowed light
Watching high in the sky
Through the loneliest nights
Marking time in tides
Among the host of stars
Reminding us the day
Is never too far

So sure are Your promises.

Jeremiah 33

What words remain
Worth speaking?
Have resolutions emerged
Something worth keeping
From the earthen mounds
Verbose heaps
Cataloging the lost.
Was there anything to keep?

When I have digested these concepts
By the consonant and vowel
Each morsel of shock masticated
Excreted via tracheal bowels
All sound and fury
Over a swollen tongue
Can any change be wrought
By these words I’ve wrung?

Has howling at the moon
Ever altered its spin?

This grief bleeds
Freely from my torn soul
Can I ever be loved?
Will I ever be whole?
I sit by these crashing waves
Where You are near
I strain to see You
Through my crested tears
In this place of solitude
I am unknown
Untended, unseen:
I weep alone
And these words scuttle
Along the dirt
Like fallen leaves and dried prayers
And this hurt
Knows no comforter
There are no arms
In which I belong, I am safe
From the tide of harm
In whispered vespers
I exhale my sorrows
I am so small.
Carry me into tomorrow.

I believe unto the grave.

Today, in crisp morning,
I remember You
As fresh, falling flakes
Slow-dance the old into new
And the rain that fell hard,
Pelting my yesterday,
Drifts into the promise
Of all tomorrow may
Be or bring or become
You paint white with hope
Over the madness and chaos;
The night in which I couldn’t cope
Yields to a blank canvas horizon
And a future yet unwritten
But filled with the potential
Of a rock that is smitten
Yet gushes again.
Even if this is merely a tender goodbye
In gratitude, my heart overflows
In tune with the snow-laden sky.

In Your image
I am made
You, who speaks to storms
In their swirling rage
Whose voice sorts and quiets
Furious tempests
And I have faced the storm.
I have made my lists
Cataloging my identity
Who I have been historically,
Who I think I am,
And who I hope to be.

These blows landed fair
And they felled me to my knees
My muscles spasm in pain
But also contract to lift me
To propel me upwards
Once again, toward the sun
And when I stand, I’ll walk,
And when I walk, I’ll run.

“Let us run with endurance
The race set before us.”
Hebrews 12:1

You sang over
The bitterness of my grief
In the gall I drank
The aftertaste was sweet
With Your presence and power
I’ve found my only relief
In finding Your love
Is resolute and complete.

As I walk this broken road
On my broken limbs
Help me see the hidden clues,
Your whispers and hints,
To lift my voice to You
In broken hymns
To praise the God who stays
Fixed in redemptive intent

Towards Your broken lamb,
Which is all I am
And ever have been:

Yours.