21-30 :Poetry in Autumn: 30 Days of Poems for Life, Love, and Creativity.
.30 Built for the Heart
Maybe love is hard.
Maybe it's wondering how you got this far, and hoping you get more time.
Maybe it's apologies, through gritted teeth, and forgiveness more times than you can count.
Maybe it’s broken friendships reborn again.
Maybe it’s the saddest you’ve ever felt, and the happiest you’ve ever been.
Maybe it’s the darkness of a front-row funeral pew, and the joy of remembering when.
Maybe it’s tears in a box of memories filled with what could have been, and rejoicing in what is.
Maybe it’s calls you make, even when it’s hard, and the voicemails you listen to over and over again.
Maybe it’s silence, space, and long days, made better by a smiling face.
Maybe love is hard, built just for the heart.
.29 Church Kid
Love lived here. Bright and all around like morning light through a steeple window.
Peppermint candy passed through wrinkled hands.
Song, dance, and uplifted hands.
Showed me how to care for my fellow humans. To uplift a stranger whenever I can.
Love lived here. Tattered hymnals in pew backs, weathered from the touch of hopeful hands.
Faith unbroken by the waves of life, a people determined to look toward Christ.
Love lived here. In the message. In familiar and new faces.
Hope all around, like a shawl one could not shake.
Love lived here. Imperfect, but never hate.
It’s never too late.
.28 Thin Hope
Chasing your ghost. Grieving the hope.
Love, so swift, we never had a chance to be anything but carried away.
So far from the shore before we recognized we were standing in our storm.
I don’t know if I’d do it again. It felt so right, so possible then.
Now, it’s only pain.
Joy curdled by the reality of what is. Hope stained with rejection again.
I could chase you down, beg you to stand in the rain, until you feel anything.
I know better, that I can never belong where hope is thin and desperation thick.
I miss you still, I think I always will, but love is a choice.
You’ve made yours. There is no open door.
.27 Love is a Rhyme
I don’t want to put you to rest with words and jest.
I’d rather arouse you with action.
I don’t want to guess and stumble through.
I’d rather truly know all that moves you.
I don’t want to wonder if I love you enough.
I’d rather hear you say I’m doing too much.
I don’t want to go it alone.
I’d rather you join me in all that I do.
I don’t want to look for anyone else.
I’d rather love you, and you love me too.
.26 Noise
Quiet comes in, gentle then curt.
A moment to hear your inner voice.
Silence, where the truth lives.
Distraction fills the void.
Back to the noise.
.25 We are the Children
What will the children say?
Do you think they’ll know the ways we struggled over the rope of their hopes?
Do you think they’ll know that we fought for their destiny?
Do you think they’ll know we all believed it was up to us? Whether they’d be greeted by a world, more life than dust.
Do you think they’ll know, our quarrels and strife, were brought to life by our hope for their lives?
Do you think they’ll feel our love, and worry, and votes long after we’re gone? Do you think they’ll say we were brave and faced the hardships of the world with a stoic face?
Do you think they’ll know we wanted them to be safe, to have a place to love and change?
Do you think they’ll know we wanted their world to be a better place?
Do you think they’ll know that too often our pride and anger stood in the way?
Do you think they’ll know we wanted to give them more than stories of war?
Do you think they’ll know that our love is hidden in the shadows of the world they do know? The one we cannot see. Our screams and shouts of victory, forgotten echos in a world full of their realities.
What will the children say, on days too obscure to paint, even with gray? Do you think they’ll know?
.24 More
It might just be that all we have is trying. A little bit and then a little more.
When love feels like it’s running out, we don’t let go, we try to squeeze a little more.
When our energy is depleted, we don't quit, we try to give a little more.
When our time is short, we try to make room for a little more.
The trying, maybe it makes us feel a little more in control, able, whole.
Trying to love our people the best we can.
Trying to make time for all the things they say we can’t.
Trying to fit in all of life’s joys between the things we must do.
More is the demand of self. Trying is all that’s ever been asked of us.
.23 Apple Tree
Small bare feet move along the pebbles of a gravel road with the delicacy of climbing through a canyon. Looking for somewhere free of pain.
Braided plaits fall on the shoulders of a girl searching for a moment of escape.
Soon to be found in the shade of the apple tree.
A symbol of barriers and sustenance, change, and life. It’s branches full of fruit today, but soon she will look up and it will be barren. Cleansed from its fruit awaiting the moment to spring from the cold.
Here she resides. A moment of rest, a chance to take a breath is all she needs.
The house on the hill is full of screams and deeds that peel away at her innocence.
Under the shade of the apple tree she can lie and wait, holding off a moment longer her inner decay.
.22 What Do You Say?
They always say it’s hard. Any kind of love.
Never that you’ll grow and bloom so much.
They always say trust takes time.
Never that so many of us are truly kind.
They always say don’t give too much of yourself away.
Never to chase after what you believe was meant to last.
They always say go slow, you don’t know what’s down the road.
Never that caution is sometimes fear.
They always say to save for a rainy day.
Never that sometimes it rains every day, and you deserve a break.
They always say life is short.
Never that some days are so long, you can hardly remember the start.
You can make your own way. What do you say?
.21 The Unknown
I think I’ll stay here. Water too deep, too dark.
The shore and I too far apart.
Here I am afraid, but a fear I know.
Stillness may save me, I hope.
I won’t rock the boat, steady are the waves.
I long for the shore, a solid ground.
No way to get there, oars without direction.
Here I am afraid, but a fear I know.
The water too deep, too dark.
The shore and I too far apart.
