I thought the sun had set.
Familiar orange thoughts rested on horizon silhouette.
I thought the day was done,
And night had won,
As darkness leant against the wall of sky
And as together we waited there to die.
The blanket tore to a million drops of rain,
Each one throwing itself at my resolve to stand, again and again.
Each bullet deliberately thickening mud to sink me further still.
The cruel, corrosive erosion of my shattered will.
But the mire was only … neck deep,
Tangled in this forest of shame.
Snared in the hunters trap I laid.
Limping, lost, and wrecked by my own self.
I trusted once.
I turned my gaze to the trumpet sound of their victory.
Deafened myself as I drew too near to feel vibrations of their hope.
There was no hope. Just voluminous hate sound.
And I am deafened to silence.
With just ringing in my ears.
Whistle of pain that courses to my heart.
If a tree fell I wouldn’t hear.
I wonder am I here at all.
Branches crash aroun
I’m coming right up.
Higher, higher up the mountain of your making. Creating. Desiring.
To the place your glory dwells. I’m coming right up.
From the raging seas of water you have spoken.
From impossibilities – to the place of your song.
I’m coming right up. I’m coming to you.
So, fling wide the gates.
Tear down the walls of devision and let the desperation of my heart join the melody of your welcome. I … seek … your face! #biblepoem #christianpoetry #iseekyourface #christian
The one above it all is, indeed, the one with me in it all.
Walking, talking, guiding, urging, comforting, calling me to soar.
And the search of my deepest longing, (in my furthest falling and in my highest climbing) is answered, in his finding me, and my knowing I am found.
What more could I long for?
Could I need? In abundance and in famine;
In war or peace or any season, in every moment he gives rest.
Gives place of sweet refreshing.
In drought and flood I drink deep; foll
The candle flame you lit of tender heart has melted me.
The soil of life you ploughed; become a mire drowning me to nought.
The victory cries you gave breath, now only sound in silent tears of memory.
All spoken out to desert of words; from infant babble to death groan in moments.
And do you still not see? Do you still not hear? Will you not know?
Of course …
It was I who let the burn, let the flood, let the sound fade out.
It was I who let the groan erupt, the snare and trap
I sit and I watch in sunrise light,
Coffee, croissant, summer morning breeze and nothing too much to do today.
The evaporating, refreshing rain of the night, the dew of the morning, the song of daybreak,
Wrap me in contentment and readiness: for what, I do not know … still, I sit and I watch. The sun rises further through the cloudless expanse in its daily course,
Tipping over treetops to begin a cascade of warmth;
A waterfall of possibility, of life, floods the day. Floods
He’s not very good at hiding.
He could be if he wanted to be.
But he doesn’t want to be.
Not at all.
He refuses to hide properly.
But he loves playing games, so he always joins in. “… 19, 20. Coming, ready or not!”
I open my eyes, ready to begin the hunt …
And he’s standing there, right in front of me.
His eyes wide with excitement and friendship.
His hands cover his mouth holding back his raucous laughter.
I smile at him and he bursts and doubles over with the thrill of b
The garden; overgrown, overwhelmed … is reclaimed.
It will be, again, a garden: replanted. Recaptured, revived.
Thankfulness replaces bitter stems,
As the gardener uproots wasteland-memories with a promise.
The gardener sits for a while,
Considering the bursts of life and colour that will be.
Each flourish of joy held captive in the seeds in the gardener’s hand.
The gardener holds the future.
Eye’s closed, the gardener can see that future.
The gardener can taste its fruit.
These hands have held so much, still hold so much,
They have let go, have dropped and have carefully placed.
Been stained and scared and remained strong,
Been ruined and riven and caught out wrong,
We put these hands in yours.
Hand in hand Your hands have held so much,
They never let go. #biblepoem #christianpoetry #handinhand #christianspokenword #psalms #jasonhuffadine #psalm7 #Biblep
I am torn to nothing; decimated page of prose,
Screwn to tinder, wrapped tight in coils to burn.
Life-hope story rolled and knotted to catch the anguish breath,
One spark ignites, dry bones split as kindling. I am barren soil falling through your fingers,
Empty of life, crumbling through drought to death.
Nothing grows in this once fertile land, strewn to famine-war,
Oh for one cloud, one rain just one droplet of hope. I am heard anguish-tears.
I am held sorrow-weakness. I am