The Promised Rain

The promised rain begins,

Falling lightly, slowly,

Measured rhythm soothing

To the soul.  Holy

Droplets, sprinkling,

Christening the earth.

The place which craves renewal

In rain, knows its worth.

Grey Speaks

Grey waves beneath  puppeteer's hand

To unsuspecting, startled passers-by.

Some ignore, or with smiles acknowledge;

Others, curiosity draws nigh.

Sharing story, interest deftly peaks;

Light observed in mutual exchange.

The Lord, Himself, with intimacy, speaks.

This poem was written after a wondrous day at a recent book sale/signing at the Atlanta Federal Center.  So many people fell in love with "Grey" today, I am beside myself, and I'm thanking the Lord for the many gifts this day has rendered.

Love and blessings to all!

Tears Fall

Without warning, tears fall.

Held in check, profoundly spilling;

Unexpected provocation.

 I, withholding, God bids willing.

Shedding with complete abandon.

What I tightly hold, denying

Frailty and sinfulness; 

His course sets true my reckoning.

I will follow.

I will heed.

I will weep. 

I will, Him, need.

For in all things, He's ever there,

Drying eyes and answering prayer.

The Island Calls

I long to see

God's glory in a face

Met with death

Untimely, in a place

Where evil, rampant,

Rules by rule alone;

Dispensing justice

As a privilege honed.

Arrogant, proud,

The island calls:

'Why should I care

Who takes the fall?'

He Makes Us Whole

The journey, long before us,

Lies in wait,

Challenging our fears.

Will time abate

The doubts invading thoughts?

Will God control?

Only, when we let Him

Make us whole.

Trains

The train calls me forward;

Tells me, "Don't look back!

Trust in the journey

Forward!"  Room for slack?

Not on this watch

Where perils deftly lie,

And, lay in wait for those

Who question and defy.

Convenient answers strewn

Like wedding petals tossed

Fecklessly, carelessly scattered,

At feet of bride, then lost.

My journey, like no other.

Resounding trains, still calling,

Heart quickens to the sound;

Soul knows:  I'm not failing.

I'm redeemed.  I am found.

Saving Rope

The world, precariously held

On Atlas' shoulders, shakes

And, shudders.  Spins out of control.

What are we to make

Of changes, charges, clash, and chaos,

Threatening and real?

Life, so precious, in the balance;

Is there room to heal?

Is there time?  Is there time?

Or, have we squandered hope?

What will it take for climbing souls

To cling to saving rope?