Anvil

 Anvil 

An unconventional use

And gravity

And force travelling

And least resistance

And other natural flaws

And super-natural laws

And an anvil is formed

From my tragedy

And my grief is your hammer

As you break me open

This hard, calloused shell

Your attack from the air,

And the soft meat of me now exposed,

Hidden no more

Crush me not,

Consume me Lord,

In brokenness

That at last we be

One

(matthew2144)

Sahara Stones

Sahara Stones 

You bought me beauty 

From the wasteland 

From the ashes of stars

Star-born

Carbon dates,

And destinations,

Deserted locations,

Millennia of waiting

In enduring night

Until seen:

The joy of the mourning.

Mirage-like they shone in your eyes

Glinting with light

Brimming with colours

A Jewel in denial

A pebble to please a king.

This thing, that you saw

and collected to bring,

And somehow thought of me.

Handing me the treasure, sometime later,

Somewhat apologetically,
You describe these plain grey pebbles

In the parameters of your original vision,

And although I didn't see them then,
And although I was grateful for the attempt,

It is the beauty of the attempt,

The gem of the gift,

That I was considered,

That you saw this

And wanted me to see,

And these plain pebbles

Shine to me still
Whenever I look at them. 

In fact, in their transfigured state,
They could not have been more beautiful to me

Than they are now.

These plain stones

From The wasteland

Tears are for Turning

As children we learn

Though the principle pain is palpable,

Though the salt trails that mark our cheeks,

long after the streams have dried, come from genuine mines of emotions,

That the water works well,

That the comfort it brings from others, 

can cascade into a river all its own,

That the display of the pain of regret,

Will bring the better part yet.

That the repentance is sweeter than never having sinned.

And so we let flow 

Occasionally more than we need.

And as an adult

I learn 

That my tears over sin,

Even If I am genuine

Are a sweet place to stay,

And to return, like a dog, to the vomit of sorrow.

And I learn

That tears are for learning 

That tears are no good 

To me or God 

If tears 

Do not lead

Into turning.

And though he indulges me

He would rather see me free.