Do You Wonder

We all have a scarlet letter
That we try to hide
We all have a secret sin
Buried deep inside
We wander aimlessly
Believing we're alone
We wear masks that smile
To hide our hearts of stone

Do you wonder...
Is there anything pure?
Is there anything holy?
Is there anything good
Left anymore?
Will we forever be standing here
Straining to see another shore?
Do you wonder?
I do.

I cry until I cannot breathe
Beat the walls with these fists.
Take well planned shots at life
But still, I always miss.
Dark sorrow remains.
People die across the sea,
While I sit here weeping,
Weeping over me.

Do you wonder...
Is there anything pure?
Is there anything holy?
Is there anything good
Left anymore?
Will we forever be standing here
Straining to see another shore?
Do you wonder?
I do.

A carpenter came to my shore
He made my scarlet letter his own
And bore my secret sins.
Said, "You'll never be alone."
He tore away my mask
Wiped all the tears away
Pounded at my stony heart
And found a bit of clay.

I have found...
One who is pure. 
One who is holy. 
One who is good and
True forevermore. 
He has carried me away from the darkness, 
Away to another shore. 
Now I kneel at His feet
In wonder. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Two Poems, & A Few Thoughts

The Swan Did you too see it, drifting, all night, on the black river? Did you see it in the morning, rising into the silvery air - An armful of white blossoms, A perfect commotion of silk and linen as it leaned into the bondage of its wings: a snowbank, a bank of lilies, Biting the air with its black beak? Did you hear it, fluting and whistling A shrill dark music - like the rain pelting the trees - like a waterfall Knifing down the black ledges? And did you see it, finally, just under the clouds - A white cross Streaming across the skyt, its feet Like black leaves, its wings Like the stretching light of the river? And did you feel it, in your heart, how it pertained to everything? And have you too finally figured out what beauty is for? And have you changed your life? Explication of Mary Oliver’s poem “The Swan” This poem dramatizes the speaker’s memory of seeing swan and being struck by its beauty. Using metaphors and similes, the author recreat
Read more

Means Less

I hate Lyme disease. I hate that I will feel great for a few days and then have a day like today where all I want is to hold my head and make people stop asking speaking because it's just so confusing and I don't understand, or can't quite think of the words I want to say. I hate that I don't want to go up the stairs because it's tiring, and I am so fatigued after hours and hours of sleeping. I hate the sense of loss that holds on to me and reminds me of all the things I'm missing out on. I hate trying to build a community when every other week I feel sick and tired and grouchy. I hate how long distance my life has become, with all the people I love scattered across the world. I hate how careful I have to be about sleep. If I don't get enough sleep, my symptoms are worse. When my symptoms are worse, I don't really want to be social. I just want everyone to stop talking and drink tea. Not exactly conducive behavior for making friends. It's
Read more

Current

I grew up beside a river.  Every morning I woke up to its silent current running past my house. It was always there, shaping my days with its seasons and storms. Every year, it dropped during dry season, and tall, sharp, grass grew up along the banks in bright green swaths. Every year, the river rose again, and sometime during the winter break I might wake up to find that huge grass islands had been cut free by the current and were being gently carried past my house. It was silent, yes, but oh so powerful.  My favorite way to end the day was to dive off the dock at sunset and float until the stars came out. I knew how to lay in the calm backwater, where the current would not get me, but most of the time I let the current take me downriver. I enjoyed the letting go, the way nothing was required of me but to rest and let the current carry me.  My sister-in-law Hayden died on Tuesday. Writing this sentence does not feel real in any way. THIS DOES NOT HAPPEN, I keep saying t
Read more