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December 29th

It’s almost eleven
and my fingers are numb
with the pain of you.

Eyes, heavy with strain
and misguided remorse,
but, words won’t come
‘til just after 2:00 am
when syllables
tickle me awake

spilling out regret;
reflections caught up in tinsel
and wilting poinsettia petals.

~

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Love Letter #25

You’re the subject
to my predicate
and Oh! look
at the pretty syllables
our love makes;

you, me
adjectives, dancing
pirouette in assonance

like parentheses
in the middle of a sentence.

Come, see
what 2:00AM looks like
to bloodshot eyes
chasing words like stars,

falling, helplessly
into a poem.

~

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Shine

Shine your light,
even if you are left standing alone,
even if your words are just ink on a paper,
that no one reads but you.

Let them leave.
That’s what freedom means.
Keep your syllables flowing, softly,
like the gentle wind
that tickles their necks,

and when they are at the bottom, looking up,
it will be your words they see,
like a flashback; like stars on a dark night.
Shine your light,
take a stand,
even if you stand alone.

~

2

It Is Finished

 

This is the thirty-first day
and my fingers pretend
they can’t take me
any further;

eyelids getting heavy
from syllables that take shelter
in the pain inside his eyes.

I erased half of this poem,
because it could never touch
the passion in his whisper,
the gentle knowing
in his forgiving glance,

then, I reached deep
into some semblance
of understanding

in the hour of darkness,
and embraced light.

Climb into my mindset;
my misty, empathetic words
as I attempt to draw
the lines in his face,

the stripes

you can only see
from behind.

Sacrifice, beyond comprehension
an unwavering, inconceivable

love.

Listen to my heart
just long enough

to resurrect this poem.

 

 

~~I am writing a poem a day from November 24th until December 25, 2016 to celebrate the birth of Jesus. …… this is day 31…the final day

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Christmas Gift

The floor is covered with ribbons, bows
and cards with pretty sentiments,
but, I see red; red with thorns, roses
laid at his feet where gold once was
and I see rain.

I smell a storm brewing,
rising from the fog like a silent night
when all they could do was cry.

I hear music; hallelujahs
spilling over rivers of indifference.

Place a flower in my hand
and let it prick the skin.
like the crown upon his head
as my tears celebrate the life

of one who spared mine,
and yours.

~
.I am writing a poem a day from November 24th until December 25, 2016 to celebrate the birth of Jesus. …… this is day 30.

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I Had to Pull These Words From Me

There was a whisper
circling
through the trees,
beneath a light;

a vision
to the north.

Gifts they left
fell at his feet,
golden, shining,
love of our lives
lying in a cradle!

breathed it in
into his nostrils-
Frankincense and myrrh
grace, sweet grace,
and the scent of glory.

An infant,
a prince of peace,
swaddled,
10 fingers clasped.

How could it be,
that before him, one day
every knee shall bow

unto the King and praise..

~~(I am penning a poem a day from November 24th through December 25th, 2016 to celebrate the birth of Jesus. This is day #29)

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Agape Love

These syllables between us
lack truth; pages we turn
flow fluently, rich in flavor
with a beautiful cover, but, oh,
they do ache.

This air, this air
suffocating and murky

like an evening without stars.

We have such gifts
in lips and tongue;
in lucid language
seeking glory in elevated places,
while feet remain planted
in muddy soil;

You rifle through my chest,
using my kindness as a weapon;
my silence for your gain.

We are in the middle of a storm,
tossed, slung, tattered,
tangled in adversity.

His tears, my tears, our tears
flow like a river, constant
like disease without a cure,

but he says there is an answer,
pure, undivided,
unconditionally ours.
It is yours, mine, ours.
It is agape love.

He said, my beloved, my beloved,
search the depths of your heart!

 

~(I am penning a poem a day  from November 24th through December 25th, 2016 to celebrate the birth of Jesus. This is day #28)