Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Of Trinkets and Treasure

170 - Copy
And we collect trinkets our whole lives,
this’s and that’s—so much useless stuff,
scraps of memory designed to hold the moment now long gone,
and it doesn’t matter in the end, when others sift through the detritus of a life, not valuing what you valued,
only seeing your treasures as burdens.
The literary wealth of a Dickinson stuffed in an overlooked drawer is an anomaly at best, when most treasured things will have been treasured by us alone.
So maybe the time, money, and affection was misspent after all.  And maybe these carnal things are, and have always been, the chains that bind us to this decaying corpse when we were made to
fly. If
I could go back, would I live differently?  . . . Perhaps,
but maybe not,
because the closer you reach the end, the clearer the vision, and
the nearer the transition to realized eternity, the more open the hands.
I guess it’s just the way of things.
104 - Copy

Saturday, April 12, 2014

Spent--Too Much

066 - Copy
I think too much.
My wonder causes me to wander to rocky, unsettled paths
where questions grow like weeds,
poking holes in my confidence,
crowding out joy.

I stink too much.
This old, carnal rag I drag around,
attached to my will by threads of world,
holds me back and blinds weary eyes to what is
truly true.

I sink too much.
This seeking first and worrying not
is swallowed up by circumstance,
and my energy is spent struggling for air in dark deep,
till I remember . . .
grace is enough;
death will be swallowed up;
flesh will be made new;
and every darkness even now is overshadowed by unfailing Love.
Open my eyes.
Proverbs 13:12
Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.