New Blog

Hey friends!

Wanted to update you all and let you know I got a new, fresh blog. I'll be posting most of this poetry there, just wanted to give you all the heads up so you can keep following if you are interested. I'll keep this site active for a while, but all new posts will be on my new blog.

Link: steelsojourner.home.blog

Outpouring

Pour over me as water over mountains,
With pressure, beauty, infinite patience
Wear my hard edges down
And carve your story within me
Ever deeper, further up and further in.

Write a story through the ages
Of how you eroded the flesh
Until only you remained.

Pour me out as oil,
Pure and rich,
In fragrant perfume that smells
Like otherworldly Kingdom,
Fragrance that comes only from you

Pour over me as compassion,
The kind of love that weeps
for nations to be drawn back home
A heart pulled to overflowing
With mercy so potent
It could cure the coldest soul.

Pour over me and I'll pour it right back
At your feet.
What grace has given me,
Let it pass to others.

Let me waste this fragrant gift at your feet,
Again and ever again,
That you might receive the reward of your suffering.

As you were poured out as the sacrifice of all flesh,
for all time,
I pour myself out as the drink offering,
All for you
With every beat of my heart a gift
Back to my beloved

Though I drip with the oils of love,
I am already being emptied
Until the end of days;
I'll be covered and coated
In the fullness of your presence
While I waste it all,
Every moment,
At your feet,

To be my love offering,
My devotion displayed.

To the Youthfilled Heart

While you are young, take time to sit in forests-
or by lakes where the lore gets told
by firesides under radiant and starry nights.
While you are young,
let your tongue catch the song sung in the morning breeze,
let it dance to the tune as it echoes to distant seas.
And while you are young, let your lungs burn from running,
ever running
to chase the sunrise as it dances on the edge of where land meets sky.
Before age and weary days tire us
and before we succumb to the numbness of the pace we've been told to keep-
my dear, let us run and not sleep,
with our wild, childlike eyes taking in the life we meet-
so take a seat in forests,
get lost in wild for a while,
and take it in, don't close your eyes-
not while you're still young enough to let your spirit run towards the sunrise skies

Relapsing

I am here.

Some days, it is enough-
That I breathe new air and taste beaming sunshine and starlight
And all the colors of this beckoning summer

Some days smell of peace and taste like rest
refreshing and renewing
And I can sit alone and not be scared of the lonesome void of silence

These days, those moments seem few and far
between the longer hours of scraping by
As much as I try, this "getting better" thing eludes me.

It seems just yesterday the therapist smiled as she shrugged
and couldn't find a reason to schedule
a next appointment-

I had actually gotten better-

My freedom was the day when I couldn't remember
the last time I felt depressed-
When I looked at the mountains and dared to climb them-

Those days were all bubbling over in simple joy and laughter,
When I didn't put on boxing gloves
for another go in the ring with apathy
Because Apathy was KOed

Those days, being alone was a sort of solace
And I was in a place where "I'm fine"
wasn't just some rehearsed line but
actual truth.


When you have no reason to live
and the depression seems unbearable,
people tell you it gets better-
they don't tell you the happily
isn't always the ever after

I was caught totally unawares
when the enemy I thought I had knocked down
attacked me while my back was turned and-

the bad dream was real and-

I got bad again-

for no other reason than no reason at all.
I miscarried the Life that I had believed myself
Incapable of conceiving
and in the midst of astonished joy
at the life I finally carried within, it just-
died.

Because depression isn't simple and
sixteen years of hurt might take another
sixteen to heal-

These days, I'm afraid to try again-
The fear lingers that I'll kill any Life that births in my Spirit,
Fear that my soul isn't viable for producing Life
like the kind they told me would come when it
got better.

These days, I'm tired.
Too tired to strap on the boxing gloves
or even go near the ring.
But slowly-
I'm training
not engaging in a fight with a foe I know will win-
but one day, I will win.
And I'll keep trying to conceive the Life I've received a little
because True Life will always be worth the risk-

Better to Live and die and fight again than to never live at all.

Because I know these walls I've built from hurt
will only deteriorate in time-
and there are people in this world brave enough
and stubborn enough
to find my cracks and slip through and force my weary soul
to keep training,
keep trying-
People who know true Life and will not rest until I know it too

These days, I say "I'm okay"
Because despite the weight of today,
I'm convinced
Life is worth fighting for,
to my last breath, if I have to.

I am here.

And when here looks more like fear and less like starlight,
I fight the lies and choose-

Life, no matter the cost.

The Playground- Part II

Hope-
Looks an awful lot like the burning heart
I wore on the playground,

On that wet, dreary day,
Following you after you had run away-

I knew right where you'd be-

So I stood under that tree
Where I had taught you to climb-
Now time and the cursed fruit it bears
Has brought us here.

It was fear, wasn't it?
The one who told you to run away with him here

Did you show you the danger he bore?
Or did you assume by his looming presence
that you had no choice?

Or did that alluring voice deceive you?
You believed, when he told you not to trust me.

So you ran with your companion and came
To this spot where I first met you.

There you are, sitting at the bottom
Of the slide you never could climb-
And I can see the questions you couldn't shake off-

The questions that brought you here-
To the beginning.

When did you forget how I spent my days singing over you,
Quieting the voices,
Drowning out your worries?

You were hurried once before
And I can see it's in your eyes again-
Hurried to throw your life away to anyone who would ask,
Because you don't think anyone,
Even me,
Can see past that mask you wear-
As a bandage more than anything-
To cover what you call disfigurement
And I call imprisonment.

It's what I've already set you free from...

Yet you let fear come and tell you differently-
The liar even had the audacity to say you weren't free
And never have been.

In an instant, that mask was reborne,
But I know the years have worn it-
And you-
Down.

Isn't that why you came to where you knew I'd find you?

Hope- that I might give chase-
So you came to this place.

Here I am.

And your heavy gaze looking up to meet mine-
Looks an awful lot like redemption.

The Playground- Part I

Apathy-
Running up a slide I went down without noticing,
Down the deep hole seeped with lies-
Deceptions I fell for,
Falling softly, the Piper seducing me,
Reducing me to carnal flesh,
Leading me here- to this place I feared I'd come
Down the Rabbit Hole my Spirit heart was never meant to go-
Slipping down this slide
To a place where I can hide
So well
No one knows I've gone missing.
Kissing my alluring Tempter while they see
Only a mask of smiles and okays

Because I've wasted these days in weary anger,
Too tired to have even desired answering that illusive question,
"What's wrong?"
It's always been easier for me to hide in the shadows with Pain,
My seductive companion,
Who hides in the playground of my confused
And plays kind

As if he is the only one who understands,
Who will stand by me.
And I fall for him.
Every time,
With every enticing rhyme of his
Drawing me closer to the edge of this slide
Until-

Here I am,
Externally fine,
But in my mind?
The term they use is backslidden.

I might say "upcrawling,"
Falling again,
Slipping every time back down because
Truthfully?
I don't know what's waiting at the top,
And so this Apathy causes me to stop halfway....

And I don't know what I want.

And the Spirit Hovered

In the beginning, 

Before the very concept of a day existed,

The Lord of Hosts insisted there be light,

And heavens and earth 

And all we can grasp and glimpse with sight-

But there was a moment right before, 

When all was formless and void

Before his power was employed 

to speak all life into being.

There was the Artist, the King, the Majestic One

The Spirit we call friend was hovering over water

Before even time began

Before celestial clocks were set into motion

The full portion and measure of Him, 

Our Counsellor, hovered.

Before the word of God was recorded,

Before the notes of songs of praise reported-

He hovered.

In anticipation for the story to be written,

Before He breathed life into the image-bearers that caught Him smitten-

He hovered.

Fast forward to the evening cool,

When his beloved neglected His only rule,

And the hid away and hoped the light of day would fade

And keep at bay their shame.

In their meeting place He waited,

Knowing the paradise He created

Would come to ruin as the reign

Of the fallen human manifest itself.

Gently, He called to the two who abandoned His rest

"Where are you?"

Hovering near their hiding place,

Knowing their betrayal wouldn't let them see His face.

The story continued East of Eden

Where the God who was rejected

Mourned for the first of His people dead

Blood crying revenge,

While he formed a better word,

One that would at last make amends

For the wrongs of His people.

As the earth was made water and rain

He hovered in grief and longing all the same

Knowing their suffering would end 

When he placed their blame on His son.

And so He was there,

Hovering,

Calling out to heal the falling out

Between God and man,

Still patiently guiding them into His new plan.

A story of redemption,

For now found in sanctification by blood,

To do anything to reconcile them to love.

Fire and cloud led a people on the run

To a mountain where his glory dwelled

And his love still swelled

Even in the rebellion of his bride

The once beautiful one,

Covered in pride and shame,

Forgetful of his name that had always been revealed.

Until at last his plan to heal was born,

A helpless child containing the wild King-

And over a manger he smiled, still hovering-

Over a thirty year old completely sold on the Plan,

He hovered as a dove 

And rested as the Savior fixed his gaze above,

With such deep love for His father

That his life cry became, "Thy will be done,"

His reason why was our adoption as sons.

Only once did the Spirit not hover

Over our Bridegroom and our Lover-

His plan was reaching fullness,

The story of redemption nearing its climax

"Eli, Eli, lema sebachthani!"

Oh why have you forsaken me?

The Spirit left His side for a moment,

As the curse of all sin gripped Jesus in its torment

And then...

Adam's redemption as, one more,

The breath of God brought to life His son.

So once more, the story continued,

To clothe in power those He had rescued.

Here He hovers in an upper room,

Here light of life coats where darkness once loomed

Here He hovers as we cry in desperation,

Groaning in intercession

To form words we cannot utter.

He leads us to still, soft waters,

To bring rest to our pilgrim hearts 

So we might have peace,

In the midst of a world torn apart.

He leads us,

To and from where no one knows,

That we are carried wherever He goes.

As the Holy Wind blows

And covers us in righteousness,

He always, relentlessly hovers,

With a stillness that releases us from fear

And always, always invites us near.

A final chapter is being written,

The final Act of love by the Smitten God,

When the Savior will return 

And we will learn to gaze in His eyes

At long last,

And sorrow will be a thing of the past;

He will wipe away every tear from our eyes,

And the blemish left from all these lies

And we will walk hand in hand 

in a newly created land.

Until then, He hovers and whispers

To those who would listen,

His fiery eyes glistening

As He dances and covers us with feathers,

Singing melodies until we are at last together,

United at the end of the Story,

Ever after spent gazing on His Glory.