Roma

 

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Rome is a moving baroque painting

A mortal paradise every eye should descry

Adorned with buildings that look like trees in the autumn,

boastfully stretching towards the sky

It’s pagan jewels clasped tightly inside its four wall fists

Bare testament to its obsession with romance

Its gold glistens too bright to be meat for martyr

Ergo a God of sacrificial love

Could not satisfy its sophisticated ways

The spree of lovers who dwell in its streets are breathing museums

of passed sorrows being swallowed up by embrace

All of them, tiny worlds existing in an ancient city

Revelling in amore

 

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‘Father’

You are an enigma

A mountain summit with your head in the clouds

The twilight of a cold and foggy winter

Unrecognisable and inconceivable

You entered my life

Shaking half-asleep questions into waking

Preluding answers which life’s river may one day bring

Us to discover

Should the waters flow towards that ocean

You are black, unclear and confounding

This journey has felt solitary

For you were never felt, never sensed

Never seen or heard

Your hands failed to grip

My pre-adolescent wrist

Never quite felt the paternal loving touch I so long missed

Father,

My tongue cannot muster many questions for you

For I am now grown

And I have grown content with the mystery of you

I penned down these lines

Restraining back unsettled tears from eyes

Which look nothing like yours

The clarity that comes with melancholy

Fills my soul as solemn chords are played into my ears

I cannot help but sing of how wonderfully strange this world is

Life never fails to amaze me

Father,

Thank you…

For my still heart beats with passion and purpose

Funny how… things can work

Even when their seemingly vital parts aren’t functioning

A bird is still a bird, even when it cannot be elevated by its wings

The night is still night

Even when the artificial light steals away the sensation of being in the dark

With nothing but the moon beam and the stars illuminating what’s necessary to be seen

A daughter is still a daughter

Even without a…

Father, I like to write poems

Black, unclear, confounding poems

I’m obsessed with deciphering everything

And seem to fall in love with guys with rubix-cube like personalities

And for that, I guess I have you to thank

I like to write poems

In the dark, unsure and unclear

For it is here, where I find peace

Sitting at the edge of the chasm of life’s peak

Here, is where I admit that I am

Not all that I am

But what I am afraid to be… weak

Spilled out in the form of a prayer in poetry

Where I try not to be right

But understand that I am human

Here, is where I’ll choose to undress my pride

And risk it all to not hide what’s confined

Inside the holy temple of my mind

Here, is my Bethesda

I am weak, yet I am strong

For I discovered sufficiency in the grace of the Trinity

Here

And only here

Where my eyes no longer behold through rose-tinted lenses

Life becomes an unfiltered photograph I am analysing closely

What a piece of art it is

Woven together by Divine hands

This tapestry of bruised beauty

And I

Am simply here

Simply, thankful to be here

Sunday Afternoons (let’s go to the beach)

Sunday afternoons
Creep upon us like the delayed realization of the blessing of breathing
Having a mouth that can stretch out a smile like clouds unveiling the sun

Let’s go to the beach
And laugh, pray, take pictures, philophize and all that makes being human great

Let’s go to the beach
Dip our toes in the sand like it’s the first time
And remember the first time
You tried to outrun a tide and fell into what didn’t seem so bad

Let’s go to the beach
Capture the sunset on the horizon
And the sea waves singing softly in the background
The sensation of sand grains each curling into the creased parts of your feet
And finding a temporary abode there

Let’s go to the beach
And be human beings
Be free, be just another stranger to the passer-byers and smile
Smile because together there was a shared yearning to be there
To be alive

The ocean reminds us that there is a vast array of things we do not know
That this place we’ve called our home
Is moving, orbiting and drawing closer and closer
We are drawing closer and closer
To the end of time
But for now,
It’s Sunday afternoon
And time has kicked off her running shoes
So…
Let’s go the beach

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Breaking Point

So, this is a very simple poem that I wrote at a time where I felt overwhelmed by the stresses and burdens which life sometimes brings. I realised after that the words which came to me at the very point where I had wanted to give up, were of such encouragement that it could not have come from me. It’s also inspired by one of my favourite scriptures, 2 Corinthians 12:9-10 –

“And He said to me, My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.”Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in needs, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”

Hope you’re blessed!

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When it feels like the weight of the world is carried on your shoulders

And all you want to do is give up the ghost

When the rain outside your window doesn’t soothe you to sleep

But drips, like liquid punches

Leaving your soul black and blue, your body faithless

And tears are the only prayers you can muster

Where is your faith?

When the people closest to your heart feel galaxies away

When you wonder whether your soul ties have become disconnected like bad wifi

And the mere breath, made evident by the moving of your chest

Is the only thing proving you’re alive

When you’re at your weakest

Where is your strength?

Yes you might claim and state-

‘God’s strength is made perfect and His grace is always sufficient’

Yet, that phrase often leaves lips without profound thought or effort

As if struggle isn’t real and faith is fable

But, allow me to break it down…

When Monday seems to have stretched itself across six more days

And every morning when you unveil your eyes

It feels like a car drove through a puddle and splashed you

When the space between yourself and the mirror is a battleground

And the sound-track to your life is a booing crowd

We often fail to believe that there’s truly a way out

But God’s protection and providence prevents any situation from proving too much

Grace, in the Greek eleeeo

Meaning ‘compassion’ and ‘pity’

Means He not only sees what you’re going through

But guarantees, He also feels it with you

He not only knows what you’re going through

But He can bare it for you

Why would you not call Him?

The hero that never wished to be a star

The one who shines brighter than the day star

There’s no pit too dark for Him to reach down His hand and grab you

But only if you’re willing to give Him your hand in order to

Because when the storms come…

And your flesh is flushed of faith

His strength is made perfect in your weakness

So you can boast of His power

Because His grace is sufficient for you…

When the wet weather wars against the flesh

And you’ve reached breaking point

You’re really at your strongest point

Because, it was never your battle to win

So whatever you’re battling…

Give it to Him

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(SEE THE LIVE PERFORMANCE OF THIS IN MY VIDEOS!) 🙂

Silence

Sometimes, there’s a sermon in the silence

Eloquence from empty echoes

When God chooses to communicate through the quietest whisper

When there’s peace to be achieved

Stillness, and void sound

Are the unstolen breadcrumbs that guide you home

When your brain decides to throw a block party with your thoughts

I imagine God being that one guest who showed up,

Just looking for a good conversation…

So seek for Him

In the quietness of every moment

Therein lies an opportunity

To hear Him