Poems & Stories

Bring the thunders
Bring the storm

Let the rain wash away
wash wash flash crash

The storm is fierce

More power than man
water washes away, we cannot stand

wash away wash away
Great storm show our weakness

wash wash flash crash

sweep away our foundation
until ever reaction

sees the cornerstone
our true hope

only seen by washing
wash wash flash crash

the ferocity of the storm defeats me
but without it, how would I see
the Great Cornerstone beneath

wash wash away away
Great storm come this day
          

Blue Ridge Mountains span my view
Old and homely, nothing new
Springs and creeks clear and cold,
pure and swift, filled with gold
Banks of mountain laurel
branches dark that curl
valley pines and ferns aplenty
mossy places, greens, life many

I love this place, but it ain't home

The smell of rivers, in a valley, in the mountains
The feel of wind on a farm where I stay
The sound of rain in the forest while I walk
The taste of blackberries grown by no man
The sight of it all that reaches my heart

I love this place, but it ain't home

Many would say you'd call this home
but I was taught different
Not by teachers, families, or friends, but while alone
I know it's true because my heart
speaks with a different accent
It's hard to explain unless you know
but this now is a fickle show

I love this place, but it ain't home

Very beautiful, I love it much
but still a shadow, and should be treated as such
One day I'll leave this place, depart through dirt expressionless,
Then I'll be home with His Infinite Grace!
          

How great are the tales I hear
Books I read of a hero
Fate draws him to save the world
I read in my room with closed doors

Games—I play the hero who dies
Saving others while fighting lies
I do this while on my bed I lie

Songs play of great, virtuous, and true
Melodies with harmonies sing the wonders they do
I am at home too

At night, I dream of holding a sword, saving lives
At home, I take a nap at five

I hear voices calling to take hold
Alas, outside my house it is cold

So many things, instant pleasures—
Instant food, internet, games, YouTube…
All of little measure

How I struggle not to waste, in my home
People I think I talk to, in my home
The truth cuts to my bones
          

Winter winds, slow snows, and thoughtful pose come into my young bones.
Too many times I've worried and tired when I should have prayed seven.
But circles around do not wisdom define, but conference and gift from divine.
May it bring not anxiety but increase in Heavenly meetings.

Oft I forget the greatest present is loving relationship in this present.
Should it be that my body trembles, still my will to Him I'll assemble.
Oh! Great Love! You make my heart beat and mind flow!

LORD! How life you bring me! It is Yours forever, but teach me!
Teach me how to love like You, raise, teach, and forever in prayer like You.
This child, apart of me, inexpressible joy must be, the same you see.
Help me, help me, for even when seemingly safe, I am dust and always need Your Face.

It's a cry of joy, petition, and plea to sing, sing, sing—"Help me."
Why? Because, oh reader, the Holy Comforter is here for us as a Father for a small child.
So help me, safe or not, I cry because I want Your presence by my side.

Great it is to have time, so we know to be aged and youthful,
Childlike and wise—because so many great things aren't separate but merely two sides.
So in my angel youth or youthful age, I cry, "Help me," because He loves me at all times.

  *Auburn Night Yr.10*
  **DPP**
          

Oh sinful generation, sinful nations,
Your beauty is tainted by your sins, as is mine,
But Christ washes away my crime.

Oh America, of brave heart and courageous people,
When did you become so weak and fearful?

Oh China, of beauty and elegance,
When did you lose your freedom and repentance?

Evil lies among the great nations of power,
And oppresses his people every hour.

The Christ Lion has taught His sons well,
And with their power, the truth that is hard to tell.
But the weak, the oppressed—that is where Jesus finds rest.

Take up God's Word, Lord, save us!
Give your Spirit surplus.
Give this world justice.
Save your children of these great nations.
Let us sing and dance together at your creation.
          

How should my pen strokes lie upon the page
To ever convey the thoughts of my mind?

It is not enough to write in English,
Nor all of Sanskrit could say
The immense, unimaginability vast, infinite completeness
To which You, my God, are.

And the story whose title page
Encompasses humanity's history,
Yet all the mystery—
For not knowing is one of Your best blessings.

How my mind whirls like the wind,
Searching every corner to fill.
Yet this is no box,
But I don't want to stop.

Wonder in You,
In what You've done.
Words do not fulfill,
My mind succumbs.
          

O' mysterious fire, suddenly out of the dark,
I was beginning to tire, now I have a new desire
To choose your flame, chase it through the night.

Things you touch you don't burn,
But bring healing and sight.

O' mysterious fire, you've led me to my friend,
One I knew of and did not know—
Together you did send.

I can't pretend my joy, my desire,
O' mysterious fire!

Strength to me lead, and I asked
That should this start,
You'd not let it end, but troubles mend.

Death to the liar in me,
Burn it with fire, raise us higher!

O' mysterious fire,
Be in the middle to fuel a righteous desire!
          

Low made high
Weak are strong
Shephard is King
Far brought nigh

Greater strength is seen with control
Power is presented perfect in humility
Poverty obtains utmost wealth
Life acheived walking through death

Expectations wont be met
Because man sees too little
Feels too weakly
And desires pathetically

Praise be to the LORD
Who's ways are greater than ours
Turning loss into power
          

Entropic, ergodic, chaotic, my heart ticks.
I need more than social etiquette
or man's quick fix.
Put me instead on the beat,
true, rhythmic to the conductor's tune.
Stable equilibria, a clear sheet,
made so full, sewn, hune.

I stray to death, oh powerful tempest,
when my heart, my soul, my mind is in a tempest.
My cord, my rope, my lifeline needs to be
boundless,
unrestrictable, uncontainable, unmeasurable.
But how could such limit to me?
How might the unforeseeable be seen?
Joyous day that reality is hard to grasp,
for such is the lifeline,
unbelievable and extremely desirable and in my grasp.

Steady, Great Conductor, command this ensemble;
pull it from destruction, from noise assemble;
transcend it to heavenly chorus.
Swaying, periodic, dancing, my heart beats.
Even the smallest of your elite
can never see defeat,
for beneath our feet,
a cornerstone, Great High Priest
          

Mornings

Let me lift up my heart toward you
Offering prayer made righteous and true
Every morn I struggle to see
I plea, with me be
Holy, sacrifice my life my minutes
Until all spent up, and with thee be sinless
Your temple, I've made unclean
Thus again again I plea
Wipe away, forever gone, my iniquity
As the light shines
A new day dawns
Awake, my flesh pines
Suddenly, Your Spirit rushes through
Afresh, strengthened, renewed
This daily I hope I pray
Closer closer with you day by day
LORD my God
Please let the Dawn
Be for Father, Spirit, and Son
          

Possessing the Moon

My little Lily desires the moon
then it's hers if she wants it true
does holding something
seeing it
labeling, quantifying, and boxing it
truly and joyfully that thing get
Does he who collects books
possess more than him who collects stories?
Who treasures such gifts uniquely and transcendently
beyond even what the author intends
Sing to the moon!
Bathe in it's light
then my sweet Lily
You'll possess it evermore
than any astronaut might