I write poetry sometimes. Here are a few of my best poems:
I was a young and flow’ring tree
With branches clothed so gracefully
with blossoms white and pink, that swell
With beauty, bearing pleasant smell.
At least that’s how things used to be—
Till change did overtake this tree.
Somewhere a Psalm says flowers fade.
As seasons pass, so did my state.
One day the sun misplaced its glow,
And mid-May winds began to blow.
For summer, spring was making way;
My flowers, sadly, wouldn’t stay.
I saw my first few petals fall;
With balding blooms I stood appalled
As gusts of wind would carry off
The beauty I was so proud of.
It humbled me, stripped me of pride,
As I watched several flowers die
Small heads, of petals, quite bereft.
At least then I had many left…
Still, petal-tempests never stop,
Ceaselessly, they ever drop.
The wind dies down, yet still they fall—
Will there be any left at all?
I feel much lighter than before…
But can these branches take much more—
Such loss of beauty, stripped of charm?
Why must this wind do so much harm?
But… is it harm? Or is it grace?
Oh, could it be that this disgrace
Is just the means to better ends—
This gravity the tempest sends?
Clouds thick with rain extract their tears
As I do mine, while standing here,
Bare, shivering, my blossoms gone.
But soon storms cease; I see the sun—
Dispelling darkness, causing sight
To see, where once stood pink and white,
On wind-blown branches evidence
Of fruit beginning its existence.
And so I see. The wind was grace—
Although it for a time defaced
One type of beauty, I would meet
One just as beautiful and sweet.
These words—they make my spirit soar up high
While gravity, an anchor, stays my frame
And thoughtfully I gaze up at the sky
As I with bliss enjoy each word and name
That mark each page, creating melody—
No tune they make, but music nonetheless.
I see my Father’s creativity
In how, with gifts of words He would us bless.
My Father’s like a poet, making “poems”
That one can read by seeing with their eyes—
The lofty mountains, and the crashing seas;
The myriads of stars that fill the skies.
So as I revel in this poetry,
I pray that YOU, the Author, I would see.
Even when the tempests may assail me
Its waves, like towers, rise above my head
And try to drown me, let my heart not fail me—
If I have You, what do I have to dread?
Those things in life that threaten my destruction,
Though they seem strong—God, You are stronger still.
And while this battle may be long and bloody,
I know Your mighty hand can save, and will.
You can find more of my poetry/short stories on my other blog, MaddieThePoet.