With all my heart I hope you’ll love me back,
Requited love is what I’m looking for,
Without your Yes response I feel a lack
And sadness while the rain outside downpours.
My eyes are crying and my heart is sore.
Although this doesn’t mean you do not care,
It makes me think that you soon won’t be there.
Chaucerian stanza
Suffering
I try to suffer well and burden not
The ones I love — but I am small and weak.
Though stoicism’s not what Jesus taught,
Neither should we for much attention seek —
Yet I can’t take it when suffering peaks.
Help me to face the storm with peace and calm,
With words and Presence like a healing balm.
8:28, part 2
God uses all this suffering for good,
Although it’s oft impossible to see,
Trust is something that we always should
Practice, and there are times to try daily.
Lord give me peace in my anxiety.
There is some hope that one day it will end,
Or that I will not break but rather bend.
When you look at the clock and think of Scripture again.
Dry Bones
Dry bones shall come together back to life, In desert lands shall flow new waters pure, The promised restoration after strife And wandering, the Great Physician's cure. Bones come together hearing God's words sure: And then the Spirit breathes into the slain, Pained waiting has reward: new hope to gain.
This morning’s first reading in the Office of Readings was Ezekiel 37:1-14, hence this poem and another one, too!
The Flower
I wrote these 2 poems yesterday. One is just a cinquain; the other is a Chaucerian stanza.
Flower
Dying wilting,
‘Cause it needed water,
Acceptance from the one she loved —
He scorched
A flower scorched spent too long in the sun
Wanting its heat, but needing water too:
She thought that Sun would be the only one
For her, but she in his all-seeing view
Was not too special. This was not love true
But soon a trap, planting roots in the wrong
Spot of the Earth. She knew it all along.
Relief
Say hello to the best thing I’ve written all month. More good news is that my doctor gave me another idea for how to treat the PMDD.
Relief has come, and I can breathe again,
From now a week or two before it comes
Back with a vengeance, feeling so often
Insane and stained, a problem not welcome
Yet always in my mind. There must be some
Fashion in which to live well with this curse.
Hurry and tell me, before I get worse.
I’m Losing You
Today’s poem, for NaPoWriMo day 24, is a Chaucerian stanza.
I’m losing you, and you won’t tell me why:
I know there is a distance now between
The two of us, and have already cried
Agony out my eyes. Reason unseen,
I have to guess at what reticence means.
Won’t you give me a dose of honesty,
The better for the both of us to see?
Not sure why, but I think it fits this post, maybe because it was taken near sunset.
“Perfection” and a Poem
The prompt word for today’s SoCS is “perfection.” Perfection is illusive and elusive; I think it is hardly possible for a human to achieve true perfection. For example, an eating disorder manifests by fixating on one’s body and trying to make it “perfect.” Perfect doesn’t exist, and even if one were to achieve it, the difficulty is in keeping it.
I write about that because, I am embarrassed to admit, I had a lot of difficulty with eating-disordered thoughts and behaviors this morning. I could hardly get my mind off of it, and it was so prevalent in my thoughts that I started to cry. Thankfully, the worst of it has stopped, and I did not cancel going out to lunch with a friend. I think that companionship was what I needed, to not be alone, even if the activity involved food.
I was able to write this Chaucerian stanza earlier today, even in the midst of that horrific time being ridiculously triggered.
I will proclaim what God has done for me:
He has bestowed on me a sense of worth,
That He made me on purpose, beautifully.
Even in suffering, there is some mirth,
Knowing that it gives aid to friends on Earth.
God’s made this life worth living even now,
He helps me trust through all that He allows.
Joy
Today I decided to share a short and sweet Chaucerian stanza that I wrote the other day.
Through sun and rain, it is a shining day
Because of all the jewels unearthed therein,
Smell petrichor, and see the rainbow ray
Even when some colors remain hidden.
Joy is not binary, all loss or win.
Give thanks to God the Father through the Son,
Perhaps not for all things, but through each one.
Dispelling Fears
A new year comes near, yet how much will change? Much courage needed for continuance When difficulties come, when life feels strange. One need not go on with exuberance, Just give another try, another chance. May higher hopes the lower fears dispel, To save a growing soul from stagnant hell.
For FOWC: Dispel. Although the last word of this Chaucerian stanza is “hell,” I think I’ve succeeded in writing a new poem that is not too much of a downer. 🙂
revivedwriter 