When Down Is Up

When down is up, and up is down
On earth, I cannot help but frown
At this confusion everywhere;
This toxic sin is the air—
Prismatic error on display;
Paraded. I watch in dismay…
Oh world, why did you choose this way?

Rainfall

A downpour roars outside my attic window.

The therapeutic patter of the rain

Both cleanses earth of dryness and pollution

And soothes my mind and heart of any pain.

 

I lean against the wall beneath this window

That overlooks much danger and dismay,

And close my eyes and listen to the rainfall—

And in that moment, everything’s okay.

 

©MaddieThePoet2017

Smaller, Quieter Things

Everyone was looking up and admiring the grandeur of the trees that stood above them.

“How tall they are!” “How majestic!”

…Everyone except one, that is.

A boy was looking downward, admiring a tiny violet, growing all alone on the ground below. Among the giant, impressive trees, one could barely look twice at a shy, little flower, living its quiet life partially hidden in the grass.

But the boy did notice. In a forest full of beauty that towered above him and surrounded him like an army of giants—beauty that was obvious, seeming to shout “look at me!”—he would not dismiss or underappreciate the beauty of smaller, quieter things.

Petals

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.

But then I still had many left…

 

Still, just like rain, the petals drop

Quite ceaselessly—they hardly stop.

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?

This 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?

The gravity** this 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.

 

©MaddieThePoet, 2017.

Under The Fig Tree (A Confession)

In anguish my heart searches, seeking rest,

But there is none: two wills divide my mind.

My evil thoughts and actions I detest,

But somehow cannot bear to leave behind.

 

I feel this battle in my soul increase;

This sin I hate, yet love, grips me with force.

These habits, when will they at last decease?

They promise joy; I only know remorse.

 

Almighty God! From sins, deliver me!

These worthless things I somehow love, destroy!

From hollow, fruitless pleasures, set me free,

And make me captive to Your greater joy.

 

You’ve taught my restless heart to rest in You;

I now know joy unmeasured, joy most true.

 

©MaddieThePoet, 2017.

(A sonnet I wrote for a school assignment, inspired by Augustine’s Confessions.)

Coconut

The world outside 

Was dusted over

With coconut flakes

On every branch 

And every sleeping 

Wildflower.

I think 

I’ll go out

And gather some

And dust it over 

My chocolate cake.

Scales

There’s something that afflicts my eyes

And makes it difficult to see.

Sin blurs my vision, thick like fog

And now I can’t perceive You clearly.

I need You, Father, but I fear

That You can’t see me through the haze

Although it’s not Your sight but mine

That’s hindered—I have turned my gaze

From joy eternal without measure

To empty things and fruitless pleasure

Which leave me empty, seeking more.

 

And as remorsefully I sigh

And think this darkness will not end

You see these scales upon my eyes

And want me to see You again.

These scales, You know, are all my sins—

My fear, my selfishness, my pride,

Anger, greed, unrighteous thoughts,

And countless other things beside.

And I will never ever see

Unless You perform surgery,

Slowly, till the scales are gone.

 

Skillful Surgeon, do Your work;

Take up the scalpel that You own

And use it, to make clear again

My vision, seeing Christ alone.

This operation will be painful—

Though I scream and groan and cry,

Don’t slow Your work removing sin—

This pain is how You sanctify.

And afterwards when I recover,

Give that remedy, none other

Than gospel truth, restoring sight.

©MaddieThePoet, 2016

O, Soul

O soul, well-worn and weary,

Please, hide your woes no longer.

God gave you others to fight with you,

And help you to be stronger.

So struggle by yourself no more,

Don’t bear it on your own.

They say strength lies in number.

Don’t fight this war alone.

 

©MaddieThePoet2016