You, Lord God,
are my anchor
and my mainstay.
You, Lord God,
are the winds
that push me on
and guide my path.
You, Lord God,
laid the roads I walk,
You steady my steps.
You, Lord God,
are my center
my goodness,
my passions.
So take me
further up
further in.
Lord, lead me
further out
to Jerusalem,
Judea, Samaria.
Give my wandering
purpose and direction.
Wash me clean
in your abundant grace,
in your merciful downpour.
Christo, Pater, Deo.
My heart, my life, my soul
are yours.
~9/17/2016~
I am a rain child,
or a child of the rain.
When clouds roll over,
when heavens loose tears,
I become alive,
like flowers in spring,
dancing in the pain,
laughing in the dark,
washed clean by the dew.
I am filled with life
when storm clouds roll in.
I roll out my mat
when store fronts close down,
like stars I light up.
When sidewalks roll up,
I dance where they were.
I am a rain child,
or a child of the rain.
I debated about whether I ought to post this or not, but I chose to because I feel it fits with several others I’ve written, and as I restructure my blog that may make more sense. That being said, over the summer I read several articles about domestic abuse and sexual harassment, and I was inspired to write this.
They tell me
it’s normal
when little boys
rip the wings off
of butterflies.
They tell me
it’s normal.
They tell me
I should have known
when his hands wandered,
his eyes wandered too.
They tell me
I should have known.
They don’t know
he ripped my wings
over quiet years
of concealed pain.
They don’t know,
They don’t care.
They told me
we had love-
three long years
together.
They told me
we had love.
So I stayed
for that love.
But love isn’t
breaking her down.
But I stayed
for my love.
Three years past,
I am healed,
mostly.
I will thrive.
Three years past
I am healed.
~August 19, 2016~
Love.
Expressed so many ways
Shared by fam’ly, friends, lovers.
The same throughout time.
Love.
Found in discussion,
Seen in writings and photos.
A constant in time.
Love.
A comradary,
A desire to be closer,
To share one’s whole self.
Love.
To know someone’s worst,
And act like it matters not.
Peace, patience, grace, joy.
Love.
It builds up friendships,
Lays foundations for marriage,
Strengthens families.
Love.
Necessary, lacking.
Blinded by pain, lust, revenge.
Sorely sought after.
Love.
What does anyone want,
But to be loved and cherished,
Safe among loved ones?
Love.
Such a simple word,
Such a difficult lifestyle,
A truly hard choice.
Love.
~April 3, 2016~
Hush, my child.
Be still and know
That I am near.
Let silence fall,
Fall out of step,
Step into peace.
Let your soul rest,
Renew your mind,
Meditate.
Meditate on
The scriptures,
On God’s love,
The simple,
The small things.
Hush, my child.
Why do you fear?
What will you miss?
what demons haunt
When you’re alone?
The silence rings-
We drown it out
With the Noise.
Be still, my child.
Take comfort
From silence,
find your peace
In the rest.
Embrace calm.
You are tired,
weary, worn down.
You’ve fled too long.
Fear not the hush,
find rest in it.
Forget the world-
It will be there
On return.
Your kisses always taste sweet to me.
Your skin feels like my favorite dress-
smooth and warm where it touches my skin.
Us fighting is exhilarating-
thunder and lightning and pounding rain.
Making up with you after the fight
is like a fresh, new dewy morning.
I adore waking up beside you,
listening to your gentle breathing.
My husband, my love, my life, my world,
what we have is something valuable,
it can’t be bought, or sold, or traded,
to others its completely worthless.
You can’t put a price on the mornings
I watch you get dressed from our warm bed.
My dear husband, know that I love you,
now and forever, with my whole heart.
I am yours, husband, and you are mine.
~May 2, 2016~
You’re like a waterfall-
All sustaining,
all consuming.
A roar of pure power-
Never ending,
never leaving.
You’re like a waterfall-
Your majesty
without an end.
You grace ever flowing-
Pouring, pounding,
ceaseless, drowning.
You’re controlled, chaotic-
So beautiful,
breathtaking love.
You’ve not forsaken me-
When I cry out,
my God, my God.
I’m taken by surprise-
By your splendor,
by my wonder.
More than I can resist-
Your mightiness,
your strong current.
You’re more than I can fight.
I’m living through
the fall of Rome.
I’m witnessing
the breaking of home.
Factions revolt,
beat the war drum.
I’m living through
the fall of Rome.
Did the ancients know
the end was nigh
when torches blazed
and leaders sighed?
Were they all unfazed?
Yet I think not-
the sounds of war
caught them off guard,
the Vandals cry
they heard as they died.
As bickering
the Forum filled,
anger, revenge
divisive killed first
the spark of hope,
eternal strength;
arrogance crept,
hatred slithered.
Long ere invasion,
Rome had fallen
to decadence,
lustful living,
a lost innocence.
Choices were made,
egos were stroked,
the seeds were sown
for destruction.
I see it today.
I’m living through
the fall of Rome.
I’m witnessing
the breaking of home.
Factions revolt,
call the war cries.
I’m living through
the fall of Rome.
Politicians lie,
corruptions deep,
hatreds deeper.
The price is steep,
that our blood will pay
in division,
turmoil and pain,
we move to death
as one nation,
our soul has been raped.
We lock our doors,
barricade our minds,
chanting mantras
like our good luck charms.
We’re torn apart-
torn limb by limb.
We’re all rebels,
fighting ourselves.
Searching for something,
but just for us-
drowning in noise,
suffocating
to the ring of phones.
We lost ourselves-
no, we didn’t,
we SOLD ourselves-
for peace of mind
never delivered.
We’re crumbling down,
breaking apart,
rubble fallen.
We need unity.
We need saving.
We need freedom.
We need to live.
We need to serve.
Solidarity
us a mere dream.
Guided by self,
by lone interests.
What’s in the future?
Who picks us up,
and cleans us off?
Who restores us?
Who supports us?
Returns legacies?
Tear down that wall,
open borders,
help the wounded,
the sick and alone.
Love God, nation,
family, friends.
Lift with strong arms
us from our shame.
The future’s not set.
Our legacy,
our history
are locked in time.
We claim to move on,
but continue
to live like this.
We don’t have to.
We can learn, now,
how to move forward.
My burdened heart
is reaching out
to the victim,
to the survivor,
the fatherless,
the downtrodden.
I pray we won’t
see the ending.
Today, forever-
Will children play
where widows weep?
Will hope abound,
and forget sorrows?
We pen this tale,
every detail
unchangeable
as we go on.
I am so afraid.
We’re living through
the fall of Rome.
We’re witnessing
the breaking of home.
Factions revolt,
play the war songs.
We’re living through
the fall of Rome.
With all great legends
embellishments are  added-
just a grain of truth
to the liar’s sea.
So too the vampire’s story
changed with each telling.
Unable to pray
(For the Lord’s name burned their lips,
bitterness, their souls)
extends to the cross,
holy water, reliquaries.
Chastened by prayers,
victim’s devotions,
legends armed the peasantry.
Aversion to tastes
(strong herbs sour the lifeblood)
added to the arsenal
garlic- a weapon.
The castled hemmed in
by rapid flowing waters
another rumor.
Though they could not drown,
the waves battery was fierce
with no bridge at hand.
So moving waters
became the villager’s friend-
another roadblock
for night’s own hunter.
A stake to their undead heart
could end a vampire-
at least cause him pause.
A brick in mouth to starve him
in his mortal grave.
The bricks broke his teeth,
sometimes his jaw, pinning him
under the cold earth.
The prey turned to fight,
emboldened by these stories,
outnumbered them.
And so now the beast
was relegated to myth,
and he relinquished
his power by might
as the man who could not die
fled into the night.
Ev’ry so often
the monster walked amongst men
taking on a guise-
human in their eyes-
gaining trust, admiration,
accumulate wealth,
and they made him king.
A kind, cold monarch by day
holding power close,
hunting with new stealth-
an indiscreet prostitute,
or a servant child,
vanished in the dark.
As time passed and he changed not,
schemes were set in place-
an heir would appear
and the vampire king vanish,
power passing hands
between the undead
as an empire was built up
unbeknownst by men.
The enemy ruled
as the hunter was hunted,
it became a game
of cat and of mouse,
while the cat wore crowns.
The body of Christ
is as a tree planted,
drawing sustenance
from His omnipotence,
life from above, below, beside.
Its roots lost to day’s light,
anonymous to those above,
anchored in time, from dust,
and to the dust returned.
The trunk- the tree’s legacy.
It has withstood time’s test.
Branches sway thither,
tossed by tumultuous wind,
each finger stretched,
facing Jerusalem,
Judea, Samaria.
Touching Rome, Canterbury, home,
reaching out to the ends of the earth.
Leaves and fruit fill boughs,
drooping to the ground
under the weight of bounty,
eager to feed people’s souls.
I am but a bud,
not fully blossomed.
I, too, could bear fruit,
or be blown away
by the storms of life.
Fed by those before,
clinging to my roots,
I take my place
and open up.
Katy's Space 