Tag Archives: soul

Awaiting the Spirit

Searching for my soul –
alone, bereft
long since in hiding
an aching deep within
is recovery possible?
how to miss so deeply
the body’s lightest weight

I yearn for my normalcy –
that cherished feeling of
blessed warmth and firm resolve,
in touch with my savior –
lost without it
teetering at the edge
of a yawning chasm
hoping for a sign
of abiding mercy

Come upon me –
Mystery of
wonderful nourishment
settling over me
when the Breath of the Spirit
touches inner knowledge
bringing draughts of wisdom,
answers, direction,
and a font of peace.

I await mysticism –
praying I let the door
open enough
for the Holy Spirit to enter.

Music soothes the sorrowing soul

Music, melodious, bluesy,
tingling, tinkling
nape of neck
curling about spine
down to its lowest rung
easing, soothing,
breaking free shackles
of discontent
hours, maybe days or months
in the making.
Music gives pause
to daily life,
makes the heartbeat
to a different rhythm
then one just moments previous.
Of God’s many gifts
surely music is
among the very best
giving the chance
of a shift in perspective,
an ability to see nuances
just recently hidden.
the capacity to regroup,
rewrite the verses of the soul
into ones so much more
palatable, serene, life-giving.
With the dawn
of a new day
the voice rises in song
to match Nature’s heartbeat
and rejoice in being.
Music soothes the sorrowing soul.

 

 

Dark is the soul

Dark is the soul that hides
sniveling and whining
behind bolted doors
of fear and remorse –
Barring entry of
kindly words –
to open to love
is to open to fear

Hunkered down, sniffing
fetid smells from spaces
too far removed
from fresh Spring breezes –
a mildewed room
holding only memories
of one long passed away –
the soul shivers
fends off silent enemies,
looks always to others
lest the truth be shown
and waits for answers
too long in coming
for escape from its
dismal corridors,
for the scent of hope
to find its way
through rusted shut doors.

Lulled into a stupor
the soul awaits –
too dimwitted to realize
the greatest enemy of all
is only a mirror away,
silently congratulating itself
for the safety
its prison bars bring

Chaos of Feeling

Don’t woo me so gently
take me hard and fast
scorching the skin
in the intensity, the
blaze of your fiery passion
Please forget the tender touching,
the quiet communion of souls,
the silent reaching out
for understanding and warmth.
Wrap me in a spinning inferno
of feelings, rock the ground
upon which my  feet tread.
Let me feel those butterflies
of infatuation, too soon gone.

Don’t go so slowly
that I come to know
the secret person behind
the mask of illusion,
one you want me to see –
I don’t want to know your soul –
for if I do –
I may never wish to let it go.

Don’t court me with flatteries –
flowers, endearments –
for coming to love you
would hurt far more
than burned fingers ever could.

(No, please, take me slowly, gently –
cover me with kisses sweet with desire,
warm me in your quiet glow –
let me know that the love
I so dread feeling –
so achingly seek but mask in fear,
is possible in your arms.
Don’t leave before I can feel
the pain of your embrace
one more time – and time again – and…)

Holding the Pain

HOLDING THE PAIN

Golden tresses softly caressing
a face filled with naivete’
yet her eyes are what draws for
they hold within their luminous depths
all the sorrows of the world.
This is her legacy . . .
to walk down paths
where burrs tear her skirts
and thorns scratch
sensitive, vulnerable skin.
So impressionable yet wise,
carrying the pain
of each crying soul she meets
in the private reaches
of her being.
Ever growing, ever changing,
but one fact remains constant . . .
a child she stays
in the deepest sense
and each tear she sees
becomes a bath for her soul,
a continual renewal of the pain
of her birth, a reaffirmation
of her most primitive essence.

Image courtesy of Danielle Niculescu

Shadow Play

Words are vultures
come to gnaw the last
bit of meat from bone.
They strip away
all reason,
the seductive embrace
of imaginings.
Words are a shadow play
where the figures cast
are illusions, and the
substance of reality
is overshadowed.

Words are binders
in the glue.
holding tight one object
to another, locked
in contracts non-negotiable.
Tread carefully
when words are spoken,
your soul is up for sale
and will be gone
if freely given to . . .
words.

Joy’s Revisions

Tears come of their own accord
catching me by surprise.
The Dam is cracking –
leaks ebb and flow
of their own accord
for days . . .

But they are the stirrings
of a new spring –
rejuvenating, cleansing,
purifying the soul.
Washing away crusty memories
of resentment or pain.
Letting life flow in.

They are far too few,
too spaced apart.
And while they may feel like pain,
They are the beginnings of joy.

How Do I Know?

 

Lord I hunger for your touch. . .
ache with the deepest longing
yet still believe.
How does one continue
In endless moments
With face turned upward
Begging for 0ne touch.
To say . . . I believe,
Not just spouting words
But searching
Within and without
For the Truth
And the Word.
I await
Your glorious splendor.
Thoughts whir
through my head
drowning out
the soft sounds
God leaves within
God, he’s easy
No one can dispute
His majesty.
But Jesus
The Word, the Light
Both son and equal
Of the almighty?
Of course he was human
Any fool knows that.
But divine? –
Still waiting for
A Proof I can believe in.
Sometimes I think
I believe . . .
But believe enough?
Enough to ward off
Doubts, despair
Soul wrenching
Emptiness?
In darkest night
I huddle, question,
Wrap belief through
My fingers,
And wait for assurance,
For answers.
For a quiet peace
To steal over me.