Diastrophe

A Post Script as Preface

2011-05-11T20:26:00.000-05:00

Just thinking some thoughts inspired by the previous poem that I wrote on Valentine's Day. Let me know if this preface to the poem is interesting to you.

Author's Preface:

The most prominent thought in my head when processing the words below was this: a piece loped violently off the side of the block may may glued back, forced back, or strapped back, but can never be put back. Or restored. Or replaced with equal strength.

It's gone.

The roots of my mind absorbed somewhere along the paths of life the idea that all souls are given a finite amount of substantive material. This may seem far too abstract to even be helpful. Let me explain. The fact that our brains retain information about the past creates an irreversible imprint of the past on the vast walls of our minds. These imprints range in style, size, shape and color from clean and beautiful to dirty, stained, violent and sorrowful. The imprints may be anywhere within the elements of our mind that form the practical impetus for living daily life (both conscious and unconscious); their location is variable. However, their existence is not.

These challenging conclusions about reality naturally bring the thoughtful reader to an emotional corollary: The energy, creativity, and time that we give to others out of love or hate, out of enjoyment or obligation, out of distinction or triviality are not recoverable. These scents cannot be rebottled once they have been wafted into the air and absorbed by others. The scents may affect other people; may move them to action in either positive or negative ways. Yet, they will, for eternity, no longer belong to you.

The most appropriate and visible stage for this scripted play of life is that of love. The romantic kind of love. The love that each seeks with all their heart whether consciously or unconsciously. The love that may always grow to twice the size once previously thought to be its limit.

The opening lines of the stage play read thus:

"Ladies and Gentlemen; what you are about to see is real. The names of the characters have *not* been changed and the innocent have *not* been protected.

Truly, those who give will not get back what was offered up in love. The pieces of their hearts that were given away were traded away forever.

But this is no bad thing.

It is, rather, a testament to the grand adventure of loving another soul.

Remember, however, that pieces of the past will always remain behind. Some will be more influential than others. Some will be more painful than others. One or two special pieces will eclipse many of the bad ones with the light of truth or goodness or beauty.

And this is the element of living that brings so much meaning. It is the weight of these experiences that form the identity of our character."

We cannot be cut off from the past. It remains, but it does not reign over the present.

I am thankful for that truth.

The block may never look the same with a chunk from the side missing. Some blocks are smaller with many pieces missing; some are larger and still rather cube-esque. But their shape has been honed, refined, and crafted into a form of infinite originality and value.

Valentine's Day

2011-05-11T20:18:00.000-05:00

Yes, I *do* understand that Valentine's Day has come and gone; many times. I have previously posted this content on Facebook and I feel that this blog is the more appropriate medium for such expression. This is something that I wrote on Valentine's Day in the midst of some reflections about the past - for better or worse.

The preface for this piece of work is posted above.

Valentine's Day

To say with words would never do,

They all sound hollow, worn, and few.

But there's one thing that needs be said,

Just let it warm and speak anew.

With each and every moment spent,

The truth is that what you have meant,

To me is more'n I'll ever know,

The love ran deeper than you knew.

I loved each time we briefly met,

Time stood still and passed, we let

our hearts grow close then far away,

And our sun dimmed the light it threw.

Though the wounds may never heal,

The best of cuts faithfully seal,

With thanks I think of days gone past, 'cause

There'll never be another you.

Writer's Regret | Writer's Reward

2010-06-15T21:56:00.001-05:00

Much contemplation has led me once again to a realization. This realization is one at which I have arrived in the past as well; many times. Sometimes I consider this realization to be positive and beneficial. Other times, it seems a burden upon my soul and conscience. It is, however, a conspicuous splotch of color on the portrait of my life.

The truth is that I am prone to communicating the thoughts and passions of my heart with much greater effect to a piece of paper than to a real person. I find myself frequently speaking with no small amount of uncharacteristic candor to the bleached sheets of arborous fiber in my journals. This practice can be good and helpful – it can also take the place of building trust in relationships with other people. Perhaps, my worst offense has been setting down thoughts so private that they should have remained covered by secrecy and lost in time.

Yet, there has been great good born of this practice of mapping my mind and emotions through words on a page. Were it not for this practice, many a fine epiphany would have been lost at sea, many moments of lucidity would have remained clouded, many weavings of personally relative (*laughs*) eloquence would have remained tarnished and buried. There stands one last positive benefit derived from this practice; it is the most important and the most enduring prize. I have prayed with a pen in hand on countless occasions. I have bowed before my Maker as my hand recorded the cursive ellipses of my cries to Him. I have drawn closer to God than I had previously thought possible. It is a joy to reread the struggles, the triumphs, the confusions, and the apprehensions of truth that came about from these times of communion.

Thus, I am thankful for the freedom of the pen. May its movements be continually redeemed just like the movements of our lives.

* * *

I recently stumbled upon a prayer I wrote almost six years ago and thought that I would share it because I think it may actually be free of heresy ^_^ Six years was more than enough time for me to forget that this piece of writing existed and, as I was rereading the words, I found myself truly praying them back to God. This find provided some great perspective and reminded me of some important truths about our faith.

This is a verbatim duplication of what I wrote (pardon the...dust):

“Father, to you be the glory forever and ever, amen. You have created the world, your power and majesty extend throughout all reality – giving meaning, creating purpose, and providing hope to us imperfect souls on earth. I thank you that you have provided for me in your sovereignty and given me a place in your kingdom. Father, I praise you for how you care, not only for me, but for every person on this earth. You have created everything; nothing can match your glory or power and yet, you care for me. Though you hold this entire universe in the palm of your loving hand and can extinguish life with a wisp of your breath, you still sent your only Son to this dingy, grainy, humble planet – to die for our sins and to bring us instantaneous forgiveness for our iniquities.

Oh Lord, my God! When I consider all you have made and provided to me, a mere speck of dust sustained by your grace, my mind learns a new subject of incomprehension. I ask, “Why?!” Why me of little faith? Why me of slight strength? Why me of miniscule proportions? Father, why did you choose me?

Because of your grand, incomparable love, I stand in humble adoration and blissful awe at the great mystery of your salvation. Your forgiveness shines forth as a beacon on a hill, as a fire of impassioned liberty, piercing the cold hearts and minds of humanity with its soft, merciful rays of life – true life.

Father, I pray in this quiet moment that, as I consider the eternal ramifications of my faith and the immense temporal applicability, that I would be drawn anew to share in its brilliant vibrance. I pray that you would take my crusty, imperfect heart and continue to transform it into a heart like yours. Father...I pray in earnest sincerity to let your mind be in me; I pray from the depths of my being that Your light would shine through my life – thereby transforming my heart and the hearts of others on this earth.

Create in me a clean heart and renew a right spirit within me. Oh Lord, bless my efforts to draw near to you even as You draw near to me. Let me marvel in your grace, take comfort in your love, and believe with all my heart in your liberating hope. Amen.”

* * *

Things Above

2010-04-18T22:19:00.005-05:00

Questions for the soul, for the imagination: What is the proper context for five story ceilings supported by the most beautiful, sweeping arches and pillars? Or the most wonderful of smells? Or the warmest, most welcoming environment - as though the very air being inhaled filtered out any anxiety, tension, or anger held back inside? Or the surreal observance of lavish excess on display at every angle within the view of a sweep of one’s eyes? Or the visual assurance that this place may be the most stunning feat of architecture, artistic decoration, and love labor ever witnessed by a mortal?

A palace, you guess? Bland. A temple, for instance? Shallow. A mine of diamonds, correct? Dirty by comparison.

Indeed, such a context would only be fitting for a place of the utmost imagination, the most eloquent of all expression, and the housing of the most central displays of character, independence, and wisdom known to any mortal: the highest pinnacle of literary pursuits, a library. A library? Indeed, could there be anything of such immense value and importance in a library? Quite so. But even more so in:

The Library of Heaven.

You are hereby freed to let your imagination work, and required to visualize with all your senses, the noble and truly awe-inspiring halls of writing and literature within the eternal realm.

A Dot, A Line, Eternal Time

I wound my way along the streets,

Of golden stones and ruby dust,

Up to a place of treasures sweet,

Preserved from foul moth and rust.

The storehouse doors rose stories tall,

And were engraved with detail fine,

They opened to reveal a wall,

Decked with splendor, only Thine.

I stepped into the colossus grand,

And stood transfixed with heightened awe,

A living silence swirled like sand,

Amongst the pillars, tall, I saw.

Columns stood in lines before me,

Upheld by time and fine as gold,

Their countless shelves a sight to see,

Rich as the books they’ll always hold.

With every step, an echo pealed,

Along the marbled hallways wide,

The sounds were like a heart been healed,

They skipped and danced from side to side.

Then down I turned one aisle fair,

And gazed in wonder what I saw,

Countless volumes resting there,

Upon the shelves of diamond awe.

I drew one volume from its place,

To rest within unworthy hands,

A scent of heaven rose with grace,

As my eyes traced its golden bands.

I thought the book almost alive,

Its glow was shining vibrantly,

It begged the reader’s gaze arrive,

And learn its truths consistently.

Then I dared to lift the cover,

Its glory took my breath away,

The words were deep and like none other,

They came in fresh like Summers’ Day.

Then as I read this ancient tome,

My thoughts traversed a new direction,

This place, the countless volumes’ home,

Was only Heaven’s reference section…

Renewal

2010-01-15T00:24:00.002-05:00

To Be

Who am I, asks the prophet.

Who am I, asks the priest,

Who am I, asks the poor bum on the street.

Who am I.

My name is who I need to be,

I call myself differently,

Depending on necessity,

I could be like anybody.

I change to the color I see,

Each hue a possibility,

The same is me differently,

My name is who I need to be...

Who are you? What things do you do and what thoughts to you think that would write the Webster's definition of You? How do you face the tests of the short term? The trials of the long term? What gives you hope?

Identity: Conscious and intentional personal character.

I've often reflected on the question of personal identity instigated by the outcomes of various events in my life. It's natural and even expected, I think, that many thinkers in my peer group are asking themselves the same questions. A fact that may be even more startling is that the question of identity is being asked with all due respect to the power of the potential answers. The question of identity has once again gained enough clout and report to be considered both a legitimate and a healthy pursuit for each individual. It is thus crucial that the answer each one of us gives to the questions that challenge the presuppositions about our very existence and purpose must be thoughtful, careful, and weighty.

The fact is that so many in my generation have both seen the scars and been scarred themselves by the answers to the question of identity that remained satisfied with the superficial. It was right for previous generations to pick up the shovel to dig deeper, but instead of searching for buried treasure, they dug themselves a shallow grave; empty of meaning, with only enough room for themselves. In search of meaning, those who walked before us were turned too easily aside by the bright lights of broadway, and the shiny currency of materialism. Sadly, the realities of their journeys set over them a mortal pale that stole their imagination and erased their memory of the beginning of their journey. It was thus, unprofitable to cast aside the whits of their minds – it did not lighten the load, and it did not bring new insight. Instead, innovation, and progress became mired in the muck of the roadside on their way to the banquet of shining precedent.

Do not do likewise, dear ones.

Rather, search and do not be finished until you find. Seek, and do not become satisfied with a comfortable substitute. The question of identity cannot be answered with mediocrity. Identity is not and cannot be a formula, just as the painter's single brushstroke cannot be a painting. Rather, let the application of effort, and the repetition of those things that we know to be virtuous, of merit, and charitable, bring to you the apprehension of the picture of identity. Personal identity, the question of ones intentional character, is not merely an event, but a collection of inspired and thoughtful instances of fusing that which good for you and good for others, of melding that which is true and that which is beautiful, and of learning the discipline of choosing what is hard because it is more beneficial than what is easy.

Identity is thus not the desire to start running, but the crafted form assumed by the runner as he competes; he has taken action, and runs with intentional determination knowing that identity is not found by at the very beginning but is realized and refined as the practice of running unfolds.

So to you, thoughtful reader: are you willing to be uncomfortable and dig deep? Or are you content to lie in a shallow grave?

...Is TiCkInG Away

2009-04-09T21:22:00.001-05:00

“Time, dear friend, time brings round opportunity; opportunity is the martingale of man. The more we have ventured the more we gain, when we know how to wait.”

~ The Three Musketeers

Page 416 (Barnes and Noble)

Prescience

2009-03-19T18:09:00.003-05:00

The Hush

And through the noise there filters down

A quiet voice, a faded sound,

Decries the current ringing tones,

That rise and fall like crowded moans,

And with a firm but gentle word,

Says, “think on all that you have heard...”

'The Love shall flow through broken hearts,

The Peace through all those pocked and marked,

An Embrace for all who've lost their way,

And Home for all who need to stay,

The Joy shall fill and cover all,

And they shall Dance and never fall.'

.

.

Who Knows

2009-02-09T22:09:00.003-05:00

The Confused

…For some are marked by time

And some are marked by life,

Still others found by joy,

Within this living rhyme

That some expect too much,

Expect for some to say

For life can never fill;

Once filled, will never stay...

Vague memory

2008-11-21T23:23:00.001-05:00

.
.
Picture, if you will, the old, run-down motel sign ahead on a darkened road. It flickers in rhythm with the wind, and shivers as the busy cars fly by. Illuminated gases dance their praise to all who have resorted to such a flimsy form of shelter on similar dark nights. They welcome a new soul in need of rest, bring peace to the weary, and comfort to those who used to stare, in wonder, at the “open” signs in the window before entering the store for a Christmas adventure. The parking lot reads the history of countless truckers and their ever-long trans-U.S. excursions. A bell rings as a door opens to reveal a young Indian kid hungry for tips and ready to earn them. Lights wander lazily in and out of reality as you pass down the aged hallway and set your first foot on a creaking motel stair…
.
.

Motel Stairs

Crumbled crunch on asphalt aged,
Blinking lights and cabarets,
Familiar taste of moldy air,
Accent of a foreign page.

Sight it out with sandy eyes,
A backlot room as midnight strikes,
Lock the car and windows too,
Ascend the stair, an aging stile.

Creaks and groans and swings some too,
Steel protests with every step,
Concrete cracks dye good hairs grey,
As motel stairs quite often do.

Rusted spots on outdoor paint,
Echoed steps wake flick-‘ring lights,
A muffled cough this soundtrack night,
Then through the door all sounds grow faint….

Effigy

2008-08-13T23:43:00.005-05:00

The Old Man rose from his stooped position next to the image his ideal. He leaned back heavily, stretching the aches and pains of great age from his tired joints. Rubbing his hands together, he filled the cramped workshop with the dust of his great creation. The particles once attached to a shapeless rock rose and fell, covering the worn surfaces of the room that had born witness to the origination of countless artifacts through its existence. The Old Man, humbled in stature by time, sat and gazed at his nearly completed masterpiece. The long silver threads gracing his face moved with the rhythm of his thoughts as he twirled the strands and immersed himself in memory.

The pathways of the past became clear and sunlit once again. A verdant meadow, an avenue lined with the brilliant hues of an extraordinary Spring; songs of joy and hope filled the air, overcoming all other sounds as the wind pulled gently on loose clothing. An azure sky gazed down upon the comings and goings of a busy world with tempered amusement as it displayed the glory of its Creator to all with eyes to see. A small child then filled the scene with her smiles and laughter. The sun became brighter, the sky deeper, the colours more vivid, and the song of Spring inescapable as it played along with the hymn of the child. The girl’s peals of amusement and gentle giggling overcame all other joys as the scene began to fade back into the present.

The flutter of eyelids and sharp intake of breath disturbed the dust settled on the Old Man’s face. With a familiar sigh he lifted his head and once more laid eyes upon his ideal, the final effort of his craftsmanship. He felt a silent regret in contemplation of the sculpted form waiting to be finished and brought fully to bear on the world in which it was created to stand. The form was bowed by choice, the Man bowed by Father Time. The Man inhaled slowly, and exhaled a prayer for the peace needed to finish what he had started so well. Slowly, he reached for his chisel, and then became still once more, transfixed by the gaze of the form before him. The figure kneeling on the cold stone in the middle of the room seemed to cry out the words written beneath his still and vivid effigy: “A broken man on bended knee.” Now was the time. Heaving a sigh, he rose to his feet, and, with a prayer for strength, took up his chisel to complete this last work of love.

Cut into the space beneath the figure were these words taken from the grave of a patriarch:

Earthly soul alive today,

Meanings fail and fade away,

Prospects burn and voices say,

To those who follow, come what may.

What to say when words can't tell,

The story of the dark and fell,

Or tale of those alive and well,

Those whose souls they cannot sell.

Here I stand, it falls to me,

To make a choice, with vision see,

So I chose the one I'll be:

A broken man on bended knee...

Stand

2008-07-23T21:36:00.001-05:00

I was reading recently of deserts and sandstorms, clouds and skies, sins and forgiveness, and deserts and sandstorms. The heroes and heroines of both tales responded in different ways to these deserts and sandstorms. Some sheltered down into cool and protective rock homes, others stayed outside in the brutal heat of the deserts and the wicked thrashing of the sand storms, deserts and sandstorms. The vivid images painted by these two sharp scenarios has stuck in my mind to the point of fueling an imagination lain dormant for too long a time, like the sands in a desert before the storm.

I imagined the terror and exhilaration of staring directly into the approaching tidal waves of winds and swirling sands and waiting to see what would happen next. When the storm had blown past, what would remain? Would the talons of disturbance tear flesh from bone? Would I stand inside a shield of protection watching the chaos surround and engulf the very air outside my translucent shelter? Would I be unscathed?

Can I find the answer to these questions without standing in the storm?

Will I stand?

Or, as countless forms that have come before have seen, would I be shaken, moved, torn, changed, ripped and rebuilt, ground down and reshaped? As the boulders crumble in the midst of the storm, the dunes shift and travel away, the desert dragons batten the hatches, all things of colour fade, the sky darkens, and those that are left are but dust and sand. Out here on this barren plain of shifting sands, those that stand are two grains of sand, and they are blown down by the wind. The children of a parched land are sifted and scattered before the very eyes of those who joined its desolation. But it’s too late to turn back. Storms approach in the desert. A parched land of deserts and storms. So I wait, I watch, I dig my feet and grit my teeth. The hounds pull ahead in the chase and the emancipated are captured. The only question that remains is:

Will I stand?

The only answer to the question is found by standing in the storm.

Tried and Tested

A dusty horizon,
Dark clouds rising high,
The sounds travel nearer,
Like a whispering sigh.

A mob in the desert,
The people of sins,
Approaches, is angry,
Send tension-filled winds.

They bear down upon me,
I’ve attempted to stand,
On my own and alone,
On the sad-shifting sand.

Huge human shapes rise,
They’re fortressed before me,
Intend none but my death,
On this vast barren sea.

I cryout in despair,
Hot tears falling and,
As their wave breaks upon me,
I realize I stand.

As the faces fly by,
Harsh glances are passed,
Great windy giants,
Surround me with past.

They sweep all around me,
Their force blowing strong,
Yet still here I stand,
One suffering long.

Portals

2008-03-21T20:58:00.002-05:00

Escape is a common theme resounding through the halls of the worn and traveled hearts of the humanity by which our world is surrounded. Some call it an excuse to become removed from world in which we live. Others hold, dearly, that escape is necessary to maintain a structure of sanity in their lives. Still others stand convinced of the tangible reality of an “other place” that generously impart renewal and rejuvenation to those who find its secrets.

It is, conceptually, both powerful and timid, both peaceful and utilitarian, both real and imagined, both quiet and demanding. Escape is thus a place of unbounded attraction to those with a wandering mind, and a sweet dream for those in need. Indeed, it is a sweet dream for some without need or care. Truthfully, the difference between our own individual worlds of escape, for, you know, we all have them, is not a sense of existence, but the certain and tangible knowledge of the existence of these places of refuge. Some lay hold of this diversity and attempt to offer some profundities in a futile effort to resolve them. There is, however, a simple explanation that will serve admirably to satisfy the curious: Imagination. My personal curiosity led me to discover this which I now share with you.

Kaetti’s World

A frozen sea of crystal sand,
A common sight for those within,
Entraps the image of without,
A vantage point where worlds begin;
And in their midst is Kaetti’s world.

For as one looks, and thinks, and breathes,
Flash colours of life passing by,
Though some are different and reflect,
A scripted, random, pattern nigh;
And thus a step toward Kaetti’s world.

Then landscapes shift and clouds roll in,
Outside, their tears, they shower clear,
And as one scene all blends and melts,
While nature fades the light from here;
The light behind shows Kaetti’s world.

A shimmering, inviting, place,
‘Comes more defined – outside is night,
New colours dance and weave and blur,
Now painting vivid unknown sights,
A glimpse revealed, of Kaetti’s world.

The portal gleams and stands anew,
Inviting one to enter in,
A tapestry of brightened scenes –
Experience the peace within;
The warm embrace of Kaetti’s world.

Thence to fly, be it pain or need,
To weep and pray and heal and rest,
In worlds removed, imagined, free,
The place of refuge loved the best;
A hope renewed in Kaetti’s world.

This gateway to another world,
Found in a mirror looking out;
Where some would see mere darkened skies,
There lays a deepened peace throughout;
The rest and calm of Kaetti’s world.

Like so much rain on child’s chalk,
All dissipates with morning light,
Once more through life someone must walk,
Remembering the hope from night,
Spent at rest in Kaetti’s world…

Emancipation

2007-12-15T23:04:00.000-05:00

As this saga draws to a close (or maybe, as the first lines have now been set), I feel a great release and a longing for more. It’s as though the first journey has been completed, though, unknown to the reader, the trial was merely a quest for initiation – a fire of testing. As the dross and imperfections begin to melt away, one can sense the beginnings of a new beautiful creation; purer, fairer, robust, and sure. Above all, I believe the result is Truth; a shining truth that whispers of a journey of origin and a lifetime of destiny.

The release is a part of me that needed to let go. Severing the chains that so easily entangle is a progressing idea, not a singular apprehension. Yet, for so long, I have thus treated the Hope that is right before our very eyes. May the lost hours, days, and months be forever a reminder of my blind stumbling and stubborn pride.

As to the longing: may it grow in strength. May the desire for the dawn and the will to enter into the heavenly chorus of praise and worship become a perpetual crescendo even through the fires of life’s testing. For those who are willing, and those who are weak, and those who are seeking, and those who may sink, may find hope, and His strength, answers that satisfy, and refuge from the storm. For since the Son has been born on the wings of the dawn, the Brave may sing on not still in the dark, but wrapped with shining gold, and safe in His everlasting arms. Thus: Part Two.

Emancipation

The blackened hues that paint the skies,
Now spread their falsehood far and wide,
The hope the Earth once saw with eyes,
Lies locked beneath the darkened tide.

The Sun a distant memory,
Led captive to a midnight grave,
Sees those who wait expectantly,
And burns to whips this evening Nave.

Now listen! – All with ears to hear,
The faintest voice but growing strong,
That sings a song to calm our fear,
And cancel all the debts of Wrong.

For in that voice a Power flows,
To free the captive – save the slave,
For faintly now a light that glows,
Restores the hope of weary brave.

And as the thousands join the song,
A shining fold full-fills their sight,
The Sun it glows with rays so strong,
That it could not be held by Night.

So off it threw its shackles far,
Exploding, burning pieces they,
Now watch the night, its surface marred,
By those bright stars, as some would say.

And as the wakened birds resound,
The trees now echo their reply,
Their Sun could ‘nere be kept or bound;
Free, its Hope shines full from on high.

Bound

2007-03-30T22:02:00.000-05:00

The contrast between the existence or appearance of light and dark is as old as this world itself. The clash of the two opposites have been used as the inspiration for the authors of literally countless works of original creation including books, plays, poetry, movies, ancient manuscripts, great works of art and many other mediums of communication. The legacy of the great struggle between the darkness and the light has been played out ever since the two powers were separated on the fourth day. The celestial bodies have since that time been acting out their well-ordered play in the heavens while inspiring the imaginations of the citizens of earth to explore the heights of radiance and depths of the voluminous void created by light’s absence. As one following in the footsteps of such greatness I cannot hope to do proper justice to these lofty apprehensions. Yet, I have once again dipped my pen in an attempt to reflect upon the movements of these contrasting ideas and, I think, to express a curious analogy found between the lines and meanings of these few verses. Without further ado: Part I.

~ Jon ~

A Shackled Sun

A crimson red across the sky
The painted stripes of dying day,
Cry out in anguish: help us nigh,
Preserve the light, please make it stay.

Defiant sphere it shall not die,
Titanic struggle to remain,
Ablaze, unsunken, hanging high,
Approaching night – our sun’s dark bane.

Its glory road stretched on and on,
All day its warmth shone far and bright,
Yet as it nears the temporal con,
It fades and falls and dims its light.

The whole expanse with sorrow sighs,
Its clouds weep tears like falling rain,
From valleys echo birds’ goodbyes,
The sun is shackled; dark with pain.

Oh how the world has turned this day,
It’s seen the joys and highs and lows,
All with sun’s light that’s gone away,
Like fallen petals of a rose.

Darkened clouds spread heavy air,
Now his final glow has gone;
With baited breath Creation fair,
Awaits the singing of the Dawn.

A Temporal Voice

2007-02-25T21:52:00.000-05:00

The Circle Trilogy by Ted Dekker illustrates how our entire lives are wrapped up in a gigantic cosmic tale of love, and dealing with the sin-created opposite, hate. It is amazing to take a step back and realize that, we're here for a purpose created by a loving God, and that, though we became imperfect and inherently flawed to a fatal degree, we may be saved from our condition because of a vital and personal love: the sacrificial love of Christ. Thus, our response to love and philosophies guiding the in which we think about, speak about and practice love become of the utmost importance.

Recently, I've had the privilage of sitting under some purely excellent teaching about the nature of love. One of the main conclusions reached by the teachers to whom I have listened has been that a totally self-denying and sacrificial love actualized by God, vibrant in our hearts, and vivid through our actions is the highest and best way in which to live our lives in regards to the character of love. That thought alone has made me stop to think more often about my own actions and the reasons behind the words I say and thoughts I think. The realization, or dawning comprehension of the true scope that love should have in one's life is incredibly powerful. A basic understand of this Agape, or unconditional love, is certainly the best place in which to begin an exploration of the other loves identified by the Greeks in their literature, love for family and friends, for self, and the...more romantic love.

I began my introduction in this manner to provide a little perspective on where I've been, so that you can understand where I'm going. I wrote this next little work in the context of the more romantic (surprised?) love that's been stirred and tapped recently. I want you, as the reader, to understand that, though I am enraptured by this love, it is not the highest love. In fact, this love isn't even possible in a pure form until one can grasp the larger picture of the unconditional and sacrificial love displayed by Christ. My passion for the subject about which I have written below originates directly from my recent turn from being trapped on my own playing field to looking upwards and seeking the face of God, His direction, and His will. And thus, I have written :-)

~ Jon ~

Heavenly Similitudes

There once was a boy,
Who lived in a world,
Like unto our own,
Whose life was just plain,
Until that one day,
Of rapture and awe.

The day had begun,
Like any Spring day,
Yet all felt more rich,
So vibrant – alive,
As if God had sung,
And World echoed back.

He trod his life’s path,
That one fine Spring day,
But tripped and fell flat,
And reddened quickly,
Then tried to explain,
His two lefted feet.

But she smiled back,
A light in her eyes,
And offered her hand,
To help him back up,
To balance his feet,
And righten his mind.

From that one day on,
Nothing was the same,
For that boy had known,
She had been special;
That he fell in love,
With earth’s one angel.

Sometimes he’d see her,
They’d cross in their paths,
He’d walk and look down,
She’d stop and just smile,
At him who she knew,
That she loved so too.

This angel of light,
The sweetest of beings,
He held in his heart,
The closest of all,
Her soul changed his life,
Forever, for good…

This earth-bound angel,
She sang like the sun,
Moved as a princess,
And told of her love,
With a smile just like,
A light on dark hills.

She made his heart leap,
And rise to a love,
That’d die for her name,
Protect her whole life,
Then’d embrace her and say,
You’re safe in my arms.

The story goes on,
Of their love and life,
Together, they were,
Eternity on;
Would that I could tell,
Their history’s path.

The ending was lost,
I’m saddened to say,
Yet, can be remade,
Through other lives too,
As he holds her close,
His angel and friend.

A Glimmer of Hope

2007-01-31T09:05:00.000-05:00

Even the darkest of nights carries with it the hope of another brilliant morning sunrise. It's never too late for the past to be conquered by the future. Remember the strength of hope though faced with the most challenging trials of life on this earth. He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.

A Painted Portal

Would that I could set these lines,
Upon a scene or painting too,
An artist speaks through brushstrokes fine,
And I upon this paper here,
Pen words to make the picture clear.

I saw the portraits brave and tall,
Of strength and beauty long they spoke,
Those landscape scenes upon the wall,
Ask, “Am I pretty can you hear,
The crashing waves or falling tear.”

For as I stood and gazed that night,
Their clouds rolled by and water lapped,
And moved to wing the birds to flight,
And catch me there just standing by,
Believing painted birds could fly.

The scene was real as real can be,
I tasted, saw and felt and touched,
The world upon this canvas sea,
And then I stated, stared and gasped –
A boy was looking back at me.

So in I drew, yet closer still,
But near enough to step right through,
The artist paints with awesome skill;
The boy had walked from whence he came,
Holding close a picture frame.

As I looked it struck me then,
I know those woods and hills and birds,
And place where I just once had been,
The painting tells the picture’s tale,
Of how a man can finally fail.

I recognized that scene full well,
It made me almost turn away,
Yet kept me staid within its spell,
Remorsing for the end I chose,
And how with grief I finally froze.

Yet still I stayed and watched in awe,
Another form take shape right there,
And you, in disbelief I saw,
My angel born in heaven,
The light within my life.

Confused by time and date and place,
I lift my head in shining sun,
And in the light I see your face,
You are the one for whom I longed,
And wish to all things I hadn’t wronged.

But you placed this frame into my hands,
Wished me, “happy birthday, love,”
Holding hands on this garden seat,
We sit side by side within the frame,
The painting is finally complete.

Smiles for love

2006-12-02T23:02:00.000-05:00

Smiles for those times in life when one can do nothing but marvel at God's greatest creation: love; smiles for His blessings one and all; smiles for close friends to share; smiles as my heart is filled; wonder at the window face now smiling back at me....

Window Gateway

Alone I sit another day,
Watching sunbeams cast their light,
The rays reveal a dusty air,
Floating still as the place I stay.

Alone within a room of worlds,
My study pages fingers flip,
My soul has wandered far away,
Now walking through your perfect world.

Though sky is grey and air is cold,
And skies rain down their sorry tears,
My love to you the wind will bear,
The words on thin paper to fold.

And as I leave my studies go,
My eyes traverse the space between,
You found my heart and follow here,
I see your face in my window.

Life's path

2006-11-06T00:39:00.000-05:00

Some will know, some will not. Some will care, some will not. I didn't think I was affected - but I was more deeply moved than I thought - and thus have only just begun to feel the weight. Don't take this lightly. Don't be paralyzed by fear. Tread carefully, and wisely and in the footsteps of our Savior....
In Memoriam:

Final Steps.

~ Jon ~

Final Steps

Stepping forward, moving through,
This life, each step is life anew,
Now turn and see your footsteps past,
They speak of pain and memory,
And of the place that you will be,
When on the path you step your last.

She lived her life for Him alone,
Her life was full, happy and shone,
His Truth within her heart she kept,
She shared it with all those in need,
Planting – caring for the seeds,
Even as her last she stepped…

For footsteps trace the path of time,
They rise and fall with Sovereign’s Rhyme,
Then one day our last we’ll take,
The walk in sand will finally end,
Our prints a lasting message send,
Is/was my path for His glory and sake?

The day was bright and full of hope,
She stepped onto the tightened rope,
Yet then it snapped and fell away,
As on we watched in disbelief,
Then turned our faces down in grief,
And felt what words had failed to say.

For not we know the time or place,
We turn to God and seek His face,
But still it’s hard to just let go…
He gives us human comfort and
A solid hope on which to stand;
And catches tears in love we know.

We’ll always miss her warming smile,
And wish to climb up heaven’s stile,
But her path is there, meek and mild,
It speaks of grace, salvation free,
Proclaiming – all the world can see,
Daddy’s little girl, God’s beloved child.

So check your path, your life, your creed,
Life has ‘nere been guaranteed,
Your next step could be the last,
So praise Him with each step you take,
Then deep your Lifeprints He will make;
And remember those whose ends you’ve passed….

To be certain of

2006-10-12T21:26:00.000-05:00

Something's in the air tonight - shining faces all a bright? A toasty place and firelight? What can one say about the aire, of which I breathe with seemed uncare? It flows within, I glean delight, - and keep these thoughts so close tonight. Something is here - forever and always.

December in October

Winds and waves of frosted rain,
Tumble blow and wisp away,
Catch on forest boughs below,
And think of how they flew that day.

Clouds upon their lofty nigh,
Flow their way through azure sky,
Blanketing the ground below,
Watching tendriled wisps they throw.

Chill surrounds this breezy day,
Pulling on the autumn leaves,
Walks in step with marching time,
That which summer lover grieves.

Creatures walking to and fro,
Eyes they speak to ones who know,
Standing under weather sky,
Waiting there for their reply.

Singing winds and hopeful breeze,
Day of heaven in my sight,
Up there she stands awaiting,
Her warmth is in my heart tonight.

Knowledge

2006-09-25T21:32:00.000-05:00

Not surprisingly, the thoughts contained within the meager lines of one of my more recent poems speak of a subject dear to my heart. In fact, it is not the single dearest subject on my heart, nor the most powerful, yet, it is one of relative importance. I feel so utterly and undeservingly blessed at this time in my life. My studies have commenced with ease and are a constant source of enjoyment for me, I feel that I am moving forward, growing, and understanding. Yet, in spite of these blessings of the moment, I also have the impression of a great weight - the weight of the future, of decisions that must be made and changes that must begin shortly. My human problem lies in the fact that I have no idea in which direction to steer the course of these decisions and changes. My latest poetry speaks a little to this effect. I believe it is the idealistic fulfillment of one aspect of the changes that must take place in my life, a fulfillment of a current thought process. Thus I was inspired to take up my amateur's pen. Thankfully, I know that the end of my strivings and goals of this nearing change are all thoroughly and lovingly planned by the omniscience of God. What a comfort to know that one does not strive alone or in vain! Finally, I have faith that no matter what happens the testimony of God's grace will sweeten and concurrently will His Kingdom be advanced in glory.

~ Jon ~

What I’d Do

If you only knew

All the notes and songs I sing,
Or how the autumn breezes ring,
The news the beauty birds they bring,
Or the paths I’d walk for you,

If only you knew

I’d take the rays of Sun in hand,
I’d build the mansion we had planned,
I’d place a crystal star on land,
And even bring some roses too…

If you only knew

Those thousand nights I’ve wished to run,
The miles ‘twain us down to none,
To speak until I’m never done,
About my love that’s ever true,

If you only knew

That when I’m never done that time,
I’d paint for you a sunset rhyme,
And ask of you that thing sublime,
I’d hold your hands and say I do.

If you only knew

What I would do for only you…

Grace-full

2006-09-07T20:47:00.000-05:00

Strength for today, hope for tomorrow. Receiving a blessing or encouragement as an unwarrented or unexpected gift. A motivator that has the unlimited power to compell those who have been touched by its light it to great deeds of charity and kindness. A doctrine that separates Christianity from all other pretenders. A perfect life-blood that was shed for our imperfection to oonce again be made clean and pure. A season of redemption, a ray of hope, a word of kindness, a gift without repayment, risk with great reward, and a power to life one from the depths of earth to the height of the heavens: Grace. What an incredibly awe-inspiring concept! To imagine such an idea whilst living in a world of arroganace and selfish desire seems to be unthinkable; and yet, the refuge of imagination has become the strongold of reality. People are constantly striving to find their own way. Absorbed within their daily quests to ascend the staricase of fame and fotune they keep guard for "number one" while trampling those that surround underfoot. The montrous reality is that this process is repeated not only on a daily basis, but, many times, without guilt or apology as well. Something about this seems out of place. I often sense that many people have a vague premonition of what they are doing and would like to cease and reverse their direction and actions if they know how. If they only knew how.... If only...we could show them. What would happen if someone decided to break outside of the veritable prison of the modern rat race and begin to act in accordance with grace. What would result if this person became an example, in word and deed, to those surrounding him? Would people see the power of grace? Would they respond? And in just what manner would you answer their questions? What would would it take for you to live a life not merely seasoned but permeated with grace? Are you willing to change the world by example?

As you may probably be able to tell, my mind has been turning this concept over for an amount of time and has readily adopted it as a source of inspiration. And what better source of inspiration than that of grace? I experienced grace in so many incredible and life-changing ways this Summer that, upon reflection, I can't help but stand amazed, left with a desire to go out and return the ultimate favor to someone else. As I reflected upon the grace of this Summer and the special people that passed a knowledge of their gift onto me through example, my responce was one of thankfulness to God - the provider and Creator of grace. God who sought fit to give to even someone like me, a sad specimen trapped wearing the binding clothing of the world about me....but set free by the bearer of good news and given hope for the future through grace and forgiveness. Thus inspired, I wrote this little work. Let me know what you think ;-)

~ Jon ~

Daughter of Grace

Written at Camp Li-Lo-Li – Summer 2006
In part to resolve the many inspiring thoughts swirling in head at that time and also in part for....someone else.

In time she stands,
Words unopposed,
On the wings of wind she prances,
Carefree laughing, creating dances.

Daughter of Grace,
Smiles so sweet,
Her sunrise is my morning ever,
As I undertake each endeavor.

Rose of her cheeks,
Grace of her steps,
Prompt me to smile and stand in awe,
Her footprints of beauty I saw.

I’d been asleep,
In deep of night,
When spirit slipped away from me,
‘Ere she had set my prison free.

A slave to World,
And evil men,
I wore their clothes and saw no stains,
World held me fast in my own chains.

World didn’t know all,
One part he missed,
The daughter of the exiled King,
Dares to let bells of freedom ring.

At end of day,
She came to me,
I stared into her eyes like stars,
From behind my cold cell wall bars.

She spoke unto me,
Her voice was like song,
She asked me why I stayed trapped there,
Weighted down by all World’s cares.

I tripped for words,
And looked down,
But she lifted her voice in song,
And sang of His grace to right wrong.

She said it’s free,
This grace given me,
She bowed her head and spoke of her King,
And of the salvation He brings.

Moved to my core,
With tears in my eyes,
I asked for the Gift and strength to believe,
My prison of chains was relieved.

Who is this Child?
A savior of men?
Nay to the latter – She’s His Child,
Daughter of grace, meek and mild.

Through His good grace,
And Her innocence,
My life’s true foundation was built,
Rooted in love I will not wilt.

Through His good news,
Brought by a child,
My life was changed, a world renewed,
And World’s distortion construed.

World’s pow’r tested,
Tried, found wanting,
I chose King’s love at His expense,
And I’m in debt to Innocence.

Though World still tempts,
Remember your King,
The beauty of true purity,
Life, love and light for all to see.

Happy am I,
To have seen love,
Grateful that World could not touch you,
I pray this blessing continues,
Pure, that you’ll remain always,
A true Daughter of Grace and sense,

Redemptive Child of Innocence.

Listening for that Voice

2006-06-20T10:00:00.000-05:00

I simply don't understand how in the world life works. In spite of this, however, I don't find myself craving a perfect understanding of all the hidden and unknown factors that influence daily life. I've often thought that it'd be more than beneficial to know what would happen before it did, or to at least see some rationality in circumstantial happenings. But, as someone close to me recently pointed out, that knowledge would make life dull and blunt. The fact is that no one can see the future. No matter how much I want to find a way out of dark times, no matter how much I try in my own power to escape adversity, no matter how hard I try to change, I won't be able to do a thing. I am powerless, completely reliant on someone else to guide me and to light the path on which I trod, though it be for a very short distance. Many times when I'm feeling especially blue I really despise and resent my figurative blindness; I feel helpless and worn for any practical solutions. Yet, I forget what I do know, I forget what is promised me, I forget what is sure and I begin to drown in unknowns. Fortunately for the entirity of humanity, whom I imagine all experience these moments at times, Salvation from this is available, solid ground is waiting to rise from the sea to give us a fim place to stand, if we would but ask God for it. And, as ridiculous as it may sound, it's amazing how often, even after asking for and standing on that solid ground, I forget that it's there and begin to drown again in the waves of doubt and self-ambiguity.

The last work I posted addressed those feelings of sinking and darkness in which I had found myself struggling recently. But, having cried out for solid ground, the voracity of those previous feelings has gone, replaced with the feeling of rock beneath my feet, though it was there the whole time. Now, my vision is clearing, and I'm getting ready to stand - and only One knows what will happen from there.

The sequel I've written is long, but it figuratively portrays the catalyst for change to which I'm in debt. Of course actual lasting change is found God, but others frequently point in that direction and help us move along in that direction. So, enjoy: When it Rained - A Story Sequel.

~ Jon ~

Forest shades of wonder,
I walk in humble awe,
Of beauty strong like thunder,
Though emotions are so raw.

Tow’ring pillars of wood,
Whisper gently divine,
Like God’s creation should,
Displaying truths by design.

These my heart holds dear,
Friends and those I love,
I think about in here,
And remember her above.

For here my soul finds rest,
Light of good shines ‘round,
Gentle flowers show this best,
Smiling up from the ground.

And so the whispers in the leaves,
Touch upon my heart so close,
All the tales the wind breathes,
Rustle sounds of hope most…

My only world of peace,
Quiet sanctuary,
This place where sorrows cease,
And remembrances marry.

I walked on through fields of green,
Under shadows of the trees,
And the lights of the sun seen,
Led me to my knees.

There in the stillness of the wood,
And ebenezers all around,
My heart was shaken as I stood,
And I heard another sound.

The distant silence shattered,
As lightening tore the sky,
Rain then poured and battered,
My solitude [was] defied.

Yet though the storm was fierce,
The rumbling passed its course,
The sky, by lightening no more pierced,
And light rain fell without force.

I stood still in my forest new,
All was quiet, all was still,
The peace of steady rain was true,
I stood listening with a will.

No sound escaped the pat’ring rain,
No melody to raise my hopes
I listened harder, but in vain,
Like those thin strands dangling ropes.

And there, that dusk, I missed you more,
Than everything, than life itself,
But I’m still here and waiting for,
Your lovely, friendly, kindest wealth.

Now as I listened closely to,
The rain fall gently through the air,
I though I heard a song renew,
Like that to which none compare.
----
Song drifts upon my ears through rain,
The song I gave up long as dead,
I hear, but faint, and full of pain,
Once more it sang throughout my head.

How my heart had sought that song,
Melodious, beautiful, sweet,
Its wells sustained me, cleansed my wrongs,
Now heard again it moved my feet.

One more I moved along that path,
Slowly, still doubting my pure joy,
But fear of my own soul’s wrath,
Drew me faster as man not boy.

As I moved, the rain fell fast,
My thoughts they ran beside my feet,
Every doubt aside was cast,
All I wished was you to meet.

I flew along that empty road,
Your sweet voice sang on with each step,
Serene forest through which I strode,
Echoed with your song; I wept.

Rain of your song and tears of hope,
Ran down my face as I ran on,
These feelings now I can cope,
New clothes was I about to don.

I saw ahead through trees, a light,
It burned within a clearing small,
So powerful and gracious, bright,
Sending forth a melodic call.

My heart felt like floating on air,
My soul caught in rapturous height,
I gazed upon my love so fair,
All sound and noise faded that night.

With disbelief in every stride,
Trembling with the force of love,
My journey ended by your side,
You held my gaze like angels above.

The terror of that night you fell,
Is gone forever with you here,
I hold your hands and say all’s well,
And with joy – there’s naught to fear.

The light of moon and sun of day,
Shine down around your glor’yus face,
Everything I wanted to say,
I spoke those days in our embrace.

The work of God, created stars,
Solid woods, their beauty true,
All laugh their smiles like painting art,
While once again I hold only you…

Metaphorically ambiguous....

2006-06-04T14:34:00.000-05:00

I was elated today to once again feel the those glorious pulsing bursts of original energy running through the fingers to my pen. The past few weeks have been tantamount to trudging down a long mountain path without any opportunity to rest or reflect - it's just been one task after another with little time in between. They say that hindsight is 20/20, and I find myself agreeing with that pithy bit of wisdom more after this past crazy month I think I ever have. It was an arduous marathon getting to this point in the present, but I'm very thankful for that time of focus, dedication and trial. To be completely honest, I wouldn't have really grown at all, spiritually, mentally etc. without the challenges of the past few weeks. However, this morning, I walked out of the church building and suddenly felt overwhelmed - a mood that usually leads directly to some sort of expression on paper for me :-) That thought having passed, I sat outside of church on a granite slab taking notes on some of my meager thoughts. The result is what's posted below, When it Rained. Lastly, I feel compelled to say that it's wonderful to have almost all of the burden of school from this past year lifted off of my shoulders for a time. I'm really looking forward to this Summer and I hope this will once again inspire some creativity within my soul :-) More to follow, more to come...

~ Jon ~

When it Rained

You’ve captured my heart,
I can never turn back,
To being normal me,
You’ve filled what I lack.

Our road travels on,
Many stories are told,
But the ones about you,
Just never grow old.

That when you sang,
All the times that you ran;
All times when you smile,
I remember I can…

These days were so sweet,
Mem’ries I hold dear,
Life simply was fun,
With you somewhere near.

But clouds then rolled in,
In – evit – able,
Sorrow tempered my joy,
I felt my heart strings pull.

I recall now the rain,
How it poured when you fell,
Like God weeping tears,
How I said all’s well…

My outside looked fine,
But inside I wept too,
I longed for those days to return,
My only wish is to hold you.

They think my life’s fine,
But they don’t see inside,
Your part of me was torn,
Ripped away – and I cried.

I wept not for me,
My heart’s used to pain,
But for the times that we had,
When I used to hear your voice in the rain…

(Please,) Bring her back again…

Silent Euphonic Melodies

2006-05-08T21:42:00.000-05:00

One day, while listening to a beautiful offertory being played by pinao and flute, I suddenly had an epiphany. They don't happen often and they usually don't go very deep , but the strangest thought struck me, and became an instant source of fascination. The flutist was mic-ed really close; close enough to pick out her rapid breaths in between lines of music. Normally, I don't notice coughs, or breaths or other really small, potentially distracting fascits of music; however, for some reason, her breaths just stuck out to me as I was listening. I wasn't distracted by her breathing, rather, the entire performance was enhanced for this reason: I realized that the beautiful music being played depends SOLELY on those breaths - it seems so obvious, but without that breathing, there's no way that such beautiful music could be rendered. Just listening to breathing, whether it's the breath before a Louis Armstrong blast, the sweet sound of a singer drawing in the power to create the sounds of angels, or the rapid breaths of Mojo as he raps...I find myself amazed at the simple beauty of that sound - especially knowing that without breath, that beauty and creativity is impossible. It's quite a thought, and it was inspiring to me...enjo:y A Euphony of Breath.

~ Jon ~

A Euphony of Breath

A sleek harmonious language,
Spoken through music’s magicians,
A breath taken, hushed silence,
The artist cast her spell.

Transport to another world,
Riding on a crested wave,
A deep breath before the plunge,
Warm notes she then twirled.

With a lovely breath she plays her song,
I sit to watch, to listen, and hear,
The peaceful noise of one breath breathed,
Her lovely voice staid and strong.

The note was held, wondrous, long,
A rich sound and deep as oceans,
It pierced and shattered, warmed and calmed,
One clear note righted my heart’s wrong.

Her music held to glorious end,
Four measures completed,
With a fullness left to sing,
Her eyes traveled the next line to tend.

A thought of preparation passed,
She rose, inhaled and gained th’ pow’r,
Holding within the life of song,
Her lovely spell again she cast.

On she sang enchanting to the end,
Her song’s life ebbed and faded,
But lived again with every breath she drew,
Its power I thought my heart would rend.

The audience sat edged on their seats,
Song’s apex reached she drew once more,
I marveled at such simple charm,
Once more she took me down that blissful street.

She smiled again and sang her symphony,
Lifting her voice, descanting the finale,
She captured all with power of song,
But held my heart with her breath’s sweet euphony.

Winds of Reformation

2006-04-25T16:35:00.000-05:00

Two days ago, I was sitting alone outside of our church between services just observing the beauty around me. As I sat and pondered theological intricacies, the economic plights of Third-World countries, and the huge problems in our political system...well, actually - just the basic meaning of life - I was suddenly aware of the soft tendrils of the breeze gently brushing across my face. Gradually, the breeze began to increase in strength - it started moving through the tops of the trees, sounding the crescendo of Spring-time harmonies. I sat and watched as the wind played it's course through the bushes, across the lawn and in the tumbling leaves. The clouds were pushed back and the warm light of the sun smiled down upon my lonely heart. I thought about the wind. As it breezed by, shuffling papers, it's soft, persuasive tones again brushed my thoughts, and reminded me of truth - truth carried on the winds of change, truth carried on winds of redemption, and hope carried on the wings of the wind. I remembered the sun, it's smiling face, and the hope born to all on the wings of His wind. Striving in my simplistic way to capture this amazing force, I pulled a pen from my bag and began to write these thoughts pulling on the fabric of my heart and mind. I wrote haltingly, hesitantly, trying to contain and express this great truth being screamed to the world through the deafening silence. Every part of me longed to fully embrace these winds of change, hope and love. All that was in me longed to share the renewing redemption with all the world - to sing till the whole world listened to the song of the King. Alas, my simple words, rough hands, and untrained mind failed to adequately expose the glory of the King and His song born on the wind - yet....yet, I was compelled to write. And so, with pen in hand, I lifted my rough, imperfect praise to His throne...and it was good.

Enjoy Wings of the Wind.

~ Jon ~

Wings of the Wind

Pushing, tearing,
Ripping, bearing,
--
The orchestral sound,
Of the wind playing now,
It's sounds of chaos,
Hauntingly resound.

Temporal, worldly
Blowing angrily,
--
It's courses have run,
Enough harm was done,
A new wind sweeps now,
The Life wind of His Son.

Spiritual, living,
Salvation it's giving,
--
Days despairair have passed,
All our limp banners,
Could fly brilliantly,
Faith rests in what will last.

Hasten, fly,
Accept, He forgives,
--
The sound of His voice
Inhabits the wind,
The time is right now,
Don't wait, make your choice.

Saving, redeeming,
His hope brings meaning,
--
Stand right where you are,
And bask in new wind,
Receive with open arms,
New life in your heart.

Loving, caring,
Hope is returning,
--
His winds bear my ship,
Through all storms and tears,
My rigging is safe,
My sails do not rip.

Laughing, beaming,
His light is streaming,
--
Light shines all around,
Carried on His wind,
Let that force embrace you,
And by grace be unbound.

Freeing, enduring,
Forever fulfilling,
--
It sweeps wrong away,
It lifts the soul high,
Breathe into the wind,
In His love you'll stay.

Safety, secure,
Stalwart He's pure,
--
No matter all've sinned,
Forgiveness flies now,
Darkness is broken,
I fly on the wings of His wind..

Ghosted Symphony....

2006-04-18T22:55:00.000-05:00

What happens when life and love collide? What does it look like to see the successful lives of two young people join in concert to write a great symphony? If one unknowingly drops that great work of time, art, love and care into a fire, how would the future change? Would true love prevail and simple obsession die?
That symphony wrote itself.
Yes, the two young people did create it - but it wasn't for the reasons, nor in the manner, one of them wanted....but HE did not accidentally drop it into the fire. It seems that God brought them together in this way: by keeping them apart...for now. The one never saw the other yet.....yet, they wrote it together. Time and space were twisted to allow such happening. Their music was created, was played as a beautiful praise of angelic heights, and it was burned in a plume of smoke and ashes. Why? How? But...now only one question remains: can they, those two people in love in the future, collaborate once more to again write the sounds of epics? And will they do it face to face....or by merely living their lives - as before - and writing the sounds of a friendship to mature into something more?

Situational pondering...'tis an art perfected almost daily in this dusty old mind. Everything, life in general, is well and moving at a rapid pace as I am hurtling towards the end of another year's studies....pray that I may finish strong. And, just to be clear on this next short work, this hasn't happened to me :-) I was just thinking and wondering....using my imagination produced this. So please, as you read: imagine, wander, learn, and ...maybe, be inspired :-) Let me know if you are ;-)

Have a bodacious day!

~ Jon ~

Reunion Alegre Magnifica

When I say those words, I love you,
I’ll see them shining in your face,
Joyful tears will flow not few,
The love of my life I’ll finally embrace;
Light shines bright from her wet cheek’s sun,
As I hold her close, she’s my only one…

Far we’ve traveled; the road’s been long,
But the hardship of life’s trials,
And the pain of love’s sweet song,
Brought us together for a while;
You were everything to me,
And always will forever be!

Melancholy separation,
See, it’s a figment in your head,
My heart bleeds from your serration,
Starved blood flowed as blue, not red;
Never again will that take place,
You clearly hold fast in my heart’s space.

I took the fall – it was mine you see,
I guided you home, safely back,
You took my hand – said you loved me,
And truly nothing now I lack;
The waves of your sea filled my heart’s hole,
I was drowned, and saved by your ocean’s soul.

How happy is our joyful present!
To laugh and love, so free once more,
Separation only to resent,
Joy tears rain - you’re all I live for;
Forever, we’re no longer apart,
Light shines down on our life of love’s new start... :-)

Backnaction

2006-04-08T17:10:00.000-05:00

Hey there fellow viewers and explorers of the world of cyberspace...thanks for stopping by at my small space for a time - I appreciate the time :-) I hope you'll find encouragement, inspiration, new ways of thinking and many other items of such interest here as you read and ponder. So, feel free to do just that, read and ponder, feel free and at home. Think about all this that I have here, and enjoy this new little dity I threw together: Just Say Yes.
I'd be glad to hear from ya'll after being sick for about a week, so drop a line, or leave your thoughts in the comments area at the bottom of this post :-)

Have a wonderful day!

~ Jon ~

Just Say Yes

This will be the one,
The day you get it done,
No need to wait,
Or to impress,
It’s not too late,
So just say yes.

Perfect submission,
With proper contrition,
Flings the shades back,
Throws the doors open,
It pierces the black…
In future glory now I’m hopin’.

His love is so deep
And He never does sleep,
Some knees will bend,
Some fall on their face,
It isn’t the end,
But the start of His grace.

So proclaim His great name,
All honor, glory, power and fame,
His love set us free,
To run and to live,
He forgave even me,
Much grace He does give.

Let His great glory resound,
As your lost soul’s now found,
He’ll wrap you in love,
His hand will hold firm,
You’ll see him above,
He’s not just a term.

So let go of foolish pride,
Bathe in His crimson tide,
Say yes to His gift,
Forgiveness forever, and
He’ll heal this dark rift,
Chains of guilt will sever.

So fall into the deep of His love,
Let Him guide and direct from above,
Take courage, oh soul,
In a future of glory,
Let Him fill in your hole,
And make you as part of His grand old Story.

...No need to wait,
Or to impress,
It’s not too late,
So just say yes...

Normalizationology....

2006-04-01T23:27:00.000-05:00

Ever notice that the separation inherent in some love is way less painful than concealing it around other people? I'm not saying whether I'm experiencing this myself at the moment or not....but I know that it's true from past experience. Recently, it crossed my mind that yes, separation and concealment are painful....yes, love can be the best and the worst thing to happen all at the same time....and yes, real progress can be completely shut down. BUT, something is still there holding us together, holding our body against our soul. We are not left out high and dry....there's a will and direction that we miss by focusing on the pain of the present and very short-sighted future - and that will, that orchestrating force, is none other than the One who created and sustains all things! He made each and every one of us special and has a special plan for His children, a plan to prosper them and not to harm them; a plan to give us a future and a hope! There is hope even in those times when all feels lost and like nothing - and that hope comes from His good and perfect plan.
Keep that in mind while reading, if you so desire to scroll down and peruse the material below, Love's Time. Thanks :-)

Have a wonderful day!

~ Jon ~

Love's Time

The dark long path of shrouded mystery,
Cool wind blows across that road by the sea,
That path I trod, my feet heavy, one night,
But distance revealed a flickering light…

From walking too fast, Love’s Time restrained me.

The light drew so close I saw its warm glow,
Soft light embraced me, for from love light does flow,
Her piercing warm rain flowed over my soul,
It flooded the darkness and filled my heart’s hole…

But the winds of Love’s Time still promptingly blow.

Enraptured in glory I had to move on,
Love’s Time pushed me back into the temporal con,
I tripped and fell, but glanced back at you, my star,
You stood free and alone in fields, afar…

Still my love fades not, but Love’s Time rules Maeron.

And the sun shines down on her long lonely face,
She watches the clouds and dreams of his embrace,
She wonders the years and how long life will take,
When one heart, from pieces, they’ll finally make...

Waiting till Love’s Time finds its lost place.

Surrounded by fields of glor’yus appeals,
With weary hands her tear-stained face she feels,
Heart’s longing for him she feels every moment,
Sep’ration for now is true love’s component…

One day Love’s Time will make their love-dreams real.

In the dark of Maeron, he still remains,
His love ever growing and never in vain,
So she too longs for that day of pure joy,
When she’ll whisper love to the man, once a boy…

…when Love’s Time dries their tears that flow like rain.

For now all they see is the moon and its light,
With words on his paper he tries to do right,
While she lies in the fields lovingly watching,
The moon they both see, their love it now reflects…

And Love’s Time is smiling, the end-wait’s in sight….

You're my muse.

2006-03-21T17:31:00.000-05:00

Lately I've been inspired by the most diverse and rather random objects and nuances. These many different inspirations have led me to a desire to write, even if what I say seems random, pointless and personal. In light of that, and in general, my love for writing verse that grows with every work I create, I decided to write a little something for every day. I haven't been completely successful, but I've had a lot of fun trying my hand at this more regimented creativity lately. And so, I thought I'd share some of these random musings with you all :-) Let me know what you think if you want to, and I hope that you enjoy my Daily Musings.
Have a stupendously fluffy day!

~ Jon ~

Daily Musings

“Wind singing through the trees, breath of His life ringing in the breeze, fresh is the scent and lovely as the wind blows, my heart for you the God of earth only knows....”
~ March 13, 2006

“Writing and thinking again, to and it, only and when, off alone and by myself, like books gazing from a shelf, this night again, look, see, His love sets the lost soul free.”
~ March 14, 2006

“I tried to get the candy for free, the machine acted quite crazily, it rattled and spat debris, finally out came the pieces, only three, I walked off quite haughtily, only to walk straight into a tree; such is my luck, reaching for free candy....”
~ March 15, 2006

“It flits and floats as it flutters by,
My lovely butterfly,
Swirling colours brilliant I see,
I jump and wish to try,
To wing my way to new heights above,
Just like my happy butterfly…”
~ March 16, 2006

“My beautiful, lovely butterfly, precious as you float through the sky, enraptured, I’m amazed when you fly, you are my sweetest lullaby.”
~ March 18, 2006

"She swings lovely in the air, symbol of embattled freedom, her stripes smile tender and fair, she stands protecting her kingdom"
~ March 19, 2006

“I battle shades of grey, the world just walks away, ‘tween numbers one and two I stay, wishing for One but wanting you too always.”
~ March 21, 2006

Wind...

2006-03-13T23:18:00.000-05:00

Blowing through the fields and forests; change. Change in heart, thinking, and many other ways...specifically thoughts brought on by happenings at the latest speech and debate tournament. It was a spectacularly bodacious time of fun and learning and challenge, and I enjoyed every minute of it. But I also had the chance to experience adversity from some rather scary areas...I think that this next little work kind of tells the story better than I can in regular writing....maybe :-)

*Listens to the wind* Wind is an amazing creation...and it's blowing strong this evening. Before I move onto the main purpose of this post I thought I'd share a little rhyme thing that popped into my head whilst thinking on the wind.
"Wind singing through the trees, breath of His life ringing in the breeze, fresh is the scent and lovely as the wind blows, my heart for you the God of earth only knows....” :-)

Anyway, hope you all have a wonderful day!
I should have something else ready in a short time, I'm just working on completing some ideas for another little ditty :-)
~ Jon ~

What Shall it Profit a Man

A happy long hallway stair,
A smell of dank must in the air,
The brilliance of another blessed day,
Lost as I stood, walking my own way.

My cry echoes, resounding, through,
This impenetrable night, resting with you;
I did my very best to walk and run away,
And ended up lost, alone and a stray.

I strove to build a kingdom of my own,
I longed to command from upon my throne
But, my palace just toppled and buried me,
My spirit broken, humbled, yet free….

Suffering the stress of an endless day,
I jumped for my goals and lost my way,
For glory been reaching, only for me
The straw to the camel: topicality.

My heart growled and leapt ablaze,
Was engulfed in the shadow of a pitying haze,
A red-ink entry in my mind’s daily lists of sin,
I sat on a tree and brooded on where I’d been.

Doubts in my head spoke words of fear,
How could the joy of God’s Will be near?
Traversing along a self-pitying path,
I was tortured by failure and His wrath.

The deep sound of forest quiet stole upon my ears,
Dry and earthy leaves drank my ungrateful tears,
Sitting in the stillness of the loving trees,
I saw the Son, bowed, and sank to my knees.

Sitting astride a moss covered log,
I prayed forgiveness and lifted the dark fog,
For it’s His power to which I’m bound,
And in His will I long to be found.

For what shall it profit a man?
Fighting for myself I never will stand,
From awards and fame I finally ran...
For only God can profit a man.

Prioritization....

2006-03-04T21:41:00.000-05:00

Reflecting on some of the recent events in my life made me realize just how much I really count on my faith in God. I’m constantly relying on other people, on my own understanding and knowledge of the world, and on my own experience to get my through life. But I came to a point, again :-), where I had to completely acknowledge that I truly hold no power. I don’t possess the ability to live my life well. I can’t do things right when I do them by myself and for myself. When I try to figure it all out on my own I not only fail to accomplish my own goals, but I turn my back on the only person who can really take my life and make it worth living, God. This work reflects, in a way, this struggle to focus my life on the most beneficial pursuits. It’s a struggle to make sure that my priorities are in the correct order while I try to balance my own selfish desires. This work talks mostly about the pull between two loves. I came to a point where I could acknowledge the one love that I *must* have needed to be placed first, but my other love, that reflects the former, can still exist, as long as it is kept in check. I don’t like changing the way I think, but I have been forced to reorganize my priorities. Thankfully though, this doesn’t mean that I’m chained to some self-righteous dogmatism…to me, placing my love for God above all others represents a freedom; and has allowed me to live a fuller life of late, while still not abandoning my other love.
Just some thoughts to consider while you read this next little piece that I’ve written :-)

May the wind under your wings bear you
where the sun sails and the moon walks,

~ Jon ~

Humbled

Floating in the sky,
Passing through the clouds,
Singing to the air,
Searching for your face.

Since then I’ve found,
The one I was looking for,
Spirit saw it was not you,
Not the one I long t’(e)mbrace.

My final, everlasting love,
That never bends nor breaks,
I focused on her life of light,
Forgetting whence it came.

Darkened shadows clouded,
Vision once so clear,
My was heart torn, divided,
Tween love and love once more.

Love for her, love for God,
Decided I on me alone,
Freely gave my heart to her,
And past His face right by.

The war within, nere shown without,
Battles - want with need,
By sunny day or shaded fog,
This war I fought alone.

Wounds received, blackened, battered,
Stubble I and homeward long,
My heart grown down, weary,
Prostrate fall before your throne.

I truly am but nothing now,
No winds, boasts, no strength,
Though now I live, hope do I
In future, Plans for good.

Turned I to face but Him,
My Lord, My God my King,
He will my strength and portion be,
Forever and amen.

Though chapter ends,
Saga stretches on,
My love for you, diverted,
Grown always, never less.

For you my soul still feels,
My heart still beats within,
For you will never see this end,
Committed, everlasting,
In love, forever, I’ll remain.

Life

2006-02-28T16:28:00.000-05:00

Well, the week has been tremendous...a tremendous rollercoaster that is. All kinds of awesome and not so awesome things have been happening. One incredible event was the Celtic Ball on Saturday! Dancing at a ball is just fun...if you've never tried it, definitely get around to it because you'll never forget the experience. Lacking words that adequately describe what an amazing time I had, suffice it to say that the Ball was better than anything you can say with words! :-)
There have been some trying times lately, but I won't bore ya'll with them. The only thing I will say is posted below in the form of my version of poetry...it may or may not be, but that's beside the point. I had something on my heart, and I needed to release some pent up emotion - my work below is the product of that partial release :-) Believe me, I'm not clinically depressed or anything...I guess I'm just inspired in unorthodox ways =P

Hope ya'll have a wonderful day....and leave comments if you feel like it ;-)

~ Jon ~

The Empty Chair

She sits in humble majesty,
A queen upon her throne,
Warmth in the air a travesty,
Is she really all alone?

My crown jewel of the earth,
Glorious as all seven wonders,
Infinitely increased at birth,
th’Value of all, strong and tender,

Though my heart not built of stone,
I sat, still with my thoughts,
Committing the act to which I’m prone,
Inconsideration,
Ignoring her that I’ve sought.

I can live no longer with this…
Hate, it reflects an image of me,
Cool, it freezes my redemption,
People…I…must turn at last to Him.

Caught there, between love and longing,
My mind reasoned that dichotomy,
I wished to affirm your belonging,
But choose the path more painful to me.

The path of love, hard may be,
It cries to protect and cherish her,
Silence for now is all I can see,
Love is to wait, the future is warmer.

In all, you never left my mind,
I thought it may show you how much I care,
Discretion to search but not yet find,
You sat still across from the empty chair.

Hindsight may always be clear,
But now unknowns tear my heart,
I want now to sit and, to you, be near;
If you care, forgive that I kept us apart.

I wish now that scene I could repeat,
My longing is to see you happy there;
[and] Maybe one day I’ll fill that vacant seat,
Across from my only one,
The seat of that empty chair.

When...

2006-02-26T15:41:00.000-05:00

My heartfelt, un-varnished, sincere, rough-hewn, unbridled thinking. Thoughts running through my head at the speed of light. Propelled by recent events they lift like waves, cresting, and fall. The thoughts stay the same, though their varacity fluctuates.
Forgive the randomness and disorder. I just need to say what I'm thinking.
=)

~ Jon ~

She Stands

There She Stands-
Fragrance of spring blossoms
Pure as driven snow,
Innocent as the dawn,
Tender as a dove,
Beautiful reflection of God.

Here I stand-
Broken, unworthy.
Struggling in the current,
Swept beyond reason,
To a place of pure joy;
To your place in my heart.

Where you are-
I long to reside,
My heart strives to find, your grace and perfection;
Shine your light through the dark,
Guide me close to you.

For God-
Giver of all life,
Has created this whole world,
Declared all things good,
But did no better work,
Than when He made you.

I love-
Your sing-song voice,
Your infectious laughter,
Your brilliant eyes,
Your heart for God,
And your simple, lovely, smile.

There she stands-
Pure, manifest, beauty,
Body, soul, and spirit;
My one and only wish,
For which I’d sacrifice all,
Is that you’d find your way to me,
And fill your place in my heart.

She still stands

Distant Present

2006-02-06T18:08:00.000-05:00

Considering the state of my emotions when I wrote this I'm not surprised I forgot about it...but I was looking through the stuff I've written and stumbled over this poem I wrote about a month ago. It was on a day that I was feeling really, introspective and...kind of down about myself and life. Things got way better, but that day at co-op and after was torture to my conscience.
Enjoy :-)
~ Jon ~

An Imperfected Storm
~J. Fedor

My heart hung from a tree,
Afflicted by sweet memories,
By terror and fervor I’m bound,
Emotions the head will confound.

My soul rests inside glass,
Imprisoned by fears come to pass,
Reflection all around, I’m seen,
What do these silent thoughts mean?

My path traces the edge of a blade,
Past choices cannot be unmade,
High stakes, sharpened paths are before me,
Slip of foot ruins hope eternally.

Yet in the end, direction lost,
Like russet bliss to winter’s frost,
Seasons end, my heart was torn,
The path’s now empty and forlorn.

Life is now an empty shell,
Stale wind’s whispers foretell,
Of existence lost and jaded,
The light of my star all but faded.

Cosmic thoughts, eternal will,
Speak of One my heart who’ll fill,
But agape and His remedy,
Deserve none of sinful me.

Not accepting am I the grace given me,
Too late I’ve arrived and nothing I will be.
Why then the Son, moon, and stars?
God must have purpose for them from afar.

As is Autumn un to the Spring,
A longing in my heart will bring,
A desire for being redeemed,
But God’s good plan for them, is not His will for me.

Torment, depression and despair,
Doubt, the evil one’s wares,
These he offers at bargain price.
I bought, I fell, and hang now here,
Dying in a web of vice.

Cold hard morning dawned upon this earth,
She still remembers joy of virgin birth,
But my heart, broken, apostate,
Only to falling can still relate.

Book closes, curtain falls,
Scene ends, we build walls.
To forget that life, now I pray,
Shut the door, must nothing stay. (?)

Exit the chapter, turn the page,
Weep only for a passing age,
A path of my choosing stretches on,
My love soul lost, new clothes will don.

But yet again I stand still,
My feet deny themselves the will.
Move forward to face the doubt!
Struggle of progress’s what life’s about.

Two halves of life I see,
Two terms: reality and fantasy.
The latter’s purged from heat of strife,
The former’s barely hanging on to life.

Obliterated are the past and present,
Future’s challenge He underwent,
With ½ heart, I’ll attempt this too…
But Why? My only wish was for you.

With flourish and strength of soul,
I’ll press on toward unknown goal,
Leaving behind pain and suff’ring,
Humbled, broken, cold, yet warm,
Hold me now, for never let go,
Pull me out, and away from this storm.

Thanks for listening....leave comments if you feel the impulse to do so....

From the Heart

2006-02-04T12:05:00.000-05:00

Life in my world these days has been a roller coater ride, at best. The business, stress, deadlines and expectations of the world seem to have weighed on my shoulders more than I ever thought it possible. With the tournaments, the research the studying and all the necessities of life, I've found difficult, at least, to focus my thoughts on priorities, to reflect on my faith in light of the future, and to really motivate myself to accomplish those goals that I have set. Striving under my own power has been a disaster; not only has it lead me to failure and humiliation, it's also drawn me further from the people I love and the God I serve. My life seems to be a struggle for balance and power. Balance between those I love here, and the One I serve always....Power struggles between Her as number one and my faith as number one. Never before have I faced such a war in my life. Fighting without knowledge of combat is dangerous and frightening, yet all I truly need is submission and faith in future, and hope in His plan. The answer to the upset, the heartache, the war, lies not with me, but with power stronger than I'll ever be. But bringing myself down low enough to ask for the strength beyond my own is something of a challenge. It's a challenge to submit, a call to learn, a command to carry out, an encouragement to live, and a mandate to hope...And why do I resist such power? Because of the slogan we know from birth, me myself and I. To break this is my goal. Refutation of such a narrow minded view on life must take place. A pattern of living for self-interest is the way to living a short unhappy life....Help me to see that.
Considering these thoughts I've been wrestling with, I've written a number of pieces that have, again, allowed me a somewhat helpful outlet to channel my feelings and lessons. This is me....my life, not yours. If you can learn I'll be happy to have accomplished something, but if not, enjoy my ramblings and thanks for stopping by :-)
Comments are always welcome on substance, grammar, verse, or feeling :-)

Learning,
~ Jon ~

The Joy of my Affection

My life feels so much for you,
Every part cries through me,
All emotion stops with you,
Your light you shine on life,
Your love I long to see,
To wonder in you again,
To revive, warm in your light,
To see you once again,
The joy of my affection.

All the thoughts of the day,
The worries and your cares,
Pass and wing their way,
To lofty hills above,
To sing their times abroad,
Whilst I remain, alone;
To weep, to pray, existence,
I ask for the end, for direction,
To see once again,

The joy of my affection.
Left here behind, I stand,
My mind traverses the hills,
My heart stays always with you,
Thinking of that glory day,
When reunited we shall be,
Hardship, toil, and strife,
To never show their face again,
I’ll stand by you once more
To face up to life, protection
As long as I see once again,
The joy of my affection.

My past future...

2006-01-23T17:01:00.000-05:00

Lately, my days have been filled with busier-than-usual comings and goings of life. So many words said, so many experiences shared, so many thoughts published, too many late nights, and a time of my life that I will never forget.
Over the next few days, I will be posting some works that I've written in, around or for this time in my life; works that trace a path I hope to alter to become more pleasing to the Lord and more beneficial to me as I strive to make the most of my gift of time. I guess I could say that I'm posting these works mostly for my purpose of relief and "breaking free the burden", so to speak. So please don't be discouraged by what I say. My intent is to avoid being very morbid and dark; yet sometimes, life is just that and theonly way to escape that darkness is to trust in the Lord for strength and courage...and in my case, scraps of Hope.
This first in a series of works is called: My Shining Night.
If you have time, let me know what you think from a linguistic or emotional point of view.

~ Jon ~

My Shining Night

It’s for her that I cry,
Every night I’m in pain,
My longing’s so great,
But Past I must deny.

Her face is always there,
Staring back in the window,
Looking over my shoulder,
Yet she doesn’t see how much I care.

Her life means much more,
Than the planet earth itself,
Her memory always cherished,
And better than any before.

My dear angel of light,
Calls softly from within,
A deep and heavy dark,
Purifying every bight.

And though the night is black,
Hope shines forth once more,
Inextinguishable there,
My love, its source, burns bright,
I’ll never take it back.

Time on my hands

2005-12-30T21:03:00.000-05:00

Unfortunately, I've been/still am horrendously sick for the past few days. It's not been cool at all since I just can't seem to shake whatever has such a hold on my body. But, I have had some extra time to contemplate many issues that have needed to be dealt with in my life. This next piece of work that I'd like to share is by no means complete, or beautiful, or fancy...but it's from the heart. It deals with the main issue that I've been wrestling with during this period of illness, and it doesn't resolve the issue, but it certainly clarified a number of things that I needed to get through my head. So without further ado, but not without wishing you and yours a Happy New Year, here is a piece entitled: Historicity.

~ Jon ~

Profound words to express
The deep thoughts in my heart,
Describe emotions suppressed,
A life almost fading,
For you I am waiting.

And how long will it be,
As time travels on,
Will love endure cruel history?
Will it stay true,
And only for you?

My comprehensive attraction,
Fleeting in times past,
Now give purpose to my action,
Love is my light,
My beacon at night.

Yet the verb in my love,
Stands dormant, untouched.
Illicit bonds killed my dove;
And so now I stand,
Young, with already tied hands.

So long have I suffered,
This lonely precious love,
Though naught’s been recovered,
And hidden I am,
I’ll nere love her less.

My heart cries out here,
Would that I could tell her,
Of my love that is so dear,
But honesty’s forbidden,
My façade remains intact.

This thrice-cursed silent pain,
Hidden from a tough out-side,
Seems strong enough to make a gain,
To rend and rear my heart,
To keep us two apart.

But, my heart always leaps, when she,
My angel of perfection,
Laughs and smiles, and speaks with me,
Then does time stand still,
In love’s gracious will.

Still, as my angel stands there,
My heart remains sad,
My true love lies concealed,
Hidden away from all,
I feel separated.

Her absence is my painful bain,
Though her presence hurts much more,
Longing for her my heart will remain,
Until she can see,
Sad’s the world to me,
Without her constant grace.

Joy will come in the morning,
God’s sun will rise to shine,
Thought I may still be mourning,
He my strength and glory,
Forever still will be.

With dedicated patience,
I’ll be waiting for my angel,
Looking forward to the inevitable day,
When nothing else I’ll be able to say,
But, I’ll love you forever…
Forever and always…

From the heart

2005-12-15T23:58:00.000-05:00

Never too soft,
Always too quiet,
I beg for relief,
She appears too oft.

Out in the dark,
I travel the path,
Searching for you,
And your lovely mark.

I see distant light,
It beckons me for'wd,
She's standing there,
Shining all a'bright.

My spirit once lost,
Now has returned,
And everything here,
Bright in this world,
Reflecting her light,
Radiating hope,
She burns evermore...
No matter despite,
My presence around her.
For life now is mine,
What was lost was her light.

And I'm glad that I can at least see it...
let me know if you like this. Maybe I'll post more :-)
If not, tell how much you don't like them . I'm also always open to suggestions for improving on these poems...so don't hesitate to let me know.

~ Jon ~

Poetry...

2005-12-13T18:53:00.000-05:00

I really don't have the mind of a poet; I just like trying to be creative and expressing my heart through various means of creativity. This afternoon I thought up this short blurb in a moment of emotion and through a burst of originality...I think Anyway...Enjoy...And let me know what you think, I'll be posting more of my "work", expressions rather, later.
~ Jon ~

Each time in my life,
I look up and see,
Your face is right there,
so charming to me.

One never will tell,
at the end of the day,
how emotion inside,
controls potent sway.

Sway over my life,
hold over action,
reign over my heart;
I gladly confess,
You're my gorgeous infection.

--------

Word Up?

2005-12-08T18:16:00.000-05:00

This is a test...will be posting later...