A Poem a Day

Keeps the heartache at bay

Tag: faith

  • Wonder

    You ever stop to wonder what it is you’re praying to?

    If God is actually a little elf in the sky, collecting prayers like post it notes, selecting the ones to answer by throwing darts while blindfolded and hope that it’s nothing they promised not to do, like curing world hunger…

    I do, all the time.

    I wonder and imagine and try my hardest to paint the plain of God’s face with my fingertips

    And get nothing.

    Nothing but a dark sky with a gathering of stars for a face.

    Do you think that’s omnipotence? Or laziness

    Because if we really were made in their image, what if God just really doesn’t fucking feel like it?

    If they bob and weave and dodge those prayers because answering them just takes too much energy.

    They created us and suddenly, we’re too much.

    Those prayers have to be going somewhere.

    Because I refuse to believe that we are really this lonely.

    That there is nothing, and no one higher in power than this blemish of humanity in a timeline we created.

    Do you think they just vanish? Eroding like pennies at the bottom of a wishing well.

    How far do you think prayers travel? Are they shot like arrows, bending the breeze to catch their target unaware? Falling back slowly as they meet resistance.

    Maybe only some prayers make it to God, or maybe they die in the sky, suffocated by the atmosphere, set aflame and snuffed out all at once, never having reached their intended destination.

    Is there anyone actually listening? Do they find our suffering funny? I can almost hear a teenage group of deities, giggling.

    But they got to go somewhere right? Like whispers on the wind.

  • Dancing Queries

    A Dance with the Devil, a Date with Death

    I have never been afraid of death.

    Wary of it, yes

    But curious, nonetheless.

    And I guess curiosity might finally kill the cat.

    Only this time, satisfaction can’t bring it back.

    Is it wrong that there is a part of me too loud to ignore that would be okay with that? 

    That would welcome that outcome.

    Yet, another part of me is just as loud, and she rages against the idea of an end. 

    Fights with tooth and nail until she’s bloody

    But the opponent is inevitable, the only thing that the determines how long you will fight is time.

    Time is the thing to fear most.

    Time allows you to believe you own it, you have it.

    But it is nothing more than a handful of sand.

    The more you try to grab and possess

    The more of it that slips through your fingers, 

    Right back into the hourglass.

    Back into the fold, isn’t that how the story goes?

    Polvo eres y a polvo volverás, no?

    That’s the silent part of me, the one who weighs the most.

    Who steadies the devil on my shoulder, and stifles the battle angel in my soul.

    She waits, for truth, for confirmation, for the answer.

    Be it received now or decades down the line, she simply waits as acceptance and denial murmur words to sway her. 

    To tilt the scale one way or the other

    To react.

    But silence is nothing more than the absence of sound.

    She is my anchor of peace in a world that is too loud.

    She does not fear death, nor does she embrace life, she merely exists. 

    And for now, that is enough.

  • What is Comfort to an Anxious Mind?

    Free of pain, the easing of grief, the alleviation of distress. 

    I yearn for the comfort I once knew. 

    The tilt of a smile, the tickle of a laugh, the thunder of peace as it washes over you.

    There was a time that comfort was so much more than 

    a rainstorm, the sand between your toes, roaming clouds in a starry night sky.

    Has it always been measured in moments? Sporadic continuous efforts to 

    Hold on to a peace that is fleeting, and yet can alter time to stretch 

    a second into a minute,

    a minute into an hour,

    an hour into a day,

    a day into a lifetime. 

    What would a lifetime of comfort be like? Would grief bow to it?

    Instead of pain, would the thought of a lost loved one bring me serenity?

    Would the thought of their absence in this realm console me?

    Would my days be filled with warm teacups overflowing with coffee? Hot stew on rainy days?

    Would dancing in that rain bring me relief? Would it dull the daily aches of being alive?

    What is comfort to an anxious mind? 

    To calm the panic that is constantly on the rise.

    Three things that are true,

    You are loved, and that love is warm,

    You exist, where there is pain there is life,

    You are in control, all it takes is a thought.

    Three things that I can see,

    My hands with which I create the most beautiful worlds,

    A blank page for those worlds to take shape in,

    A pen, to release whatever form this world chooses to take.

    Three things I can hear,

    The racing of my heart,

    The shallow end of my breath,

    The voice inside my head.

    I am nothing more than a connoisseur of tranquility.

    Measuring all that is and may be harmonious with the turmoil that drives me.

    Seeking solace in the sunsets of the lives that existed before me, 

    The stars that twinkle above me,

    The sliver of wonder in which we all exist in the same lifetime. 

    Can you imagine it, perchance? Can you see the awe the world created when it allowed us to be here together?

    Making creatures of comfort, monsters of habit, and spirits of peace.