This Poet’s Pen

one day this poet’s pen will cease to write
the well of ink within it will run dry
no more black ink upon this page of white
that day I’ll lay this pen down with a sigh

one day this pen won’t have the strength to rhyme
it won’t write metaphors or metric feet
I do not know the day nor know the time
its ink will cease to flow upon this sheet

I simply know that this is what will be:
the day will come to lay aside this pen
what lies beyond that moment, who can see?
but somehow I am sure I’ll write again

for then a pen of endless ink I’ll hold
to write my poems upon the streets of gold

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Psalm of Supplication

The wicked walk with heads held high
rejoicing in the destruction of the righteous
They delight in inflicting pain
on the ones who would
do all that they can to
alleviate the pains of others
they gather in secret councils
to plot ways to do more evil

How long O LORD
will the wicked have their way?
how long will You allow them
to glut themselves
on the misery of the upright?

Come near O LORD
expose the wicked for who they are
expose their lies and bring Your divine justice

Restore the righteous
who have been unfairly trampled
for You are no lover of evil
but You take pleasure in those
who serve you

~~

written for my friends SH and DH…and for their friends KR and KR, PR, GR, and LR…and all others in their community who are suffering right now.  God knows the details better than any of us.  He holds you in his hands!

A river flowed here once

A river flowed here once. Swift, some seasons
and some times more of a trickle – but yet
always it flowed. Birds came, with good reason
for it was full of fish. I’d see them get
one after another until they could
barely fly. Trees grew there too – mostly birch
with bark that would peel off – yielding a good
kindling for bonfires. And you need search
no further than that river in fall to
see the most beautiful oranges and reds
when the leaves changed colour. Each day was new:
from when we rose to when we found our beds

But dry seasons came (as dry seasons must)
Once there was a river. Now there is dust.

~~

Sharing with dVerse Poets’ Pub for Open Link Night. It’s been a while since I’ve been there…time to go back!

napowrimo 2018 – day 28

Although I’d said the bridge could stay
I asked how one could stop the night
He said, “a bridge, for I’M the Way,
and as for dark? I AM the light!”

“your former wall that touched the sky
would sooner harm than save your soul
for it was built upon the lie
that earthly things could make you whole”

“your wall was built on naught but chalk
and blocked not dark, but stopped the dawn
This bridge is built on solid rock
for I’M the rock it’s built upon

though now I might face fear and strife
Christ’s bridge has brought eternal Life

~~

my last two sonnets began a story, but I felt that the story remained incomplete. The story is still, perhaps, not complete, but I think that in these concluding 14 lines, I have more clearly said what was merely metaphor in the previous 2 sonnets.