My kin-friend old

For none have I as yet
But I've the pleasure of rejoicing
In a newborn joy
Of my kin-friend old.

A tale of one life
A life of one Love
A Love who held her
A hold, just now, let go
Of my kin-friend old.

Straight into the arms
Of the beloved, of kingly descent
Only to find a waiting chair
Treasured for a day God-sent
For my young kin-friend.

A tale of two lives
Th' joining of two hearts
A walk of two endings
Stumbling into two beginnings
Now held together
In cords of Love
Love Divine, all loves excelling
The Beloved and
My kin-friend old.

Conceit

The flicker in their eyes,
The linger in their steps,
She turns and feel their presence
She's caught between trap,
And freedom.

The flirt in her hair,
The fullness in her lips,
She holds back and gives calculated-
Restrained by conscience
But in loneliness forward.

How is it that one could be
Self-concious; yet desiring the blood
To heat.
This, The pull of conceit
Against the tug of conscience
Beauty prioritised,
Selfless depth denied.

Pride

Do not like David count his strength
Do not like Zedekiah flaunt the gifts
Count instead,
God's craft, not his men.
God's brand, not kings.

Repentance

Restrain the tug, hold back the pull
You need not go that way.
The dashing wind blows hot and cool,
Let down your sail.

When lonesome grey waves beat your stern
Calling you, "Respond, and turn!"
Your heart may long to care, kiss
And hold - Resist this dare!

The sun ahead beckons you steer
And sail away from rainy seas,
Close your eyes, drop your anchor,
Kneel in the wash of repentance.

First Kiss

Irrevokable sweetness
Once given, naught to return
The cup of love's first surrender
Pouring out innocent fires
Hidden behind dignity's gold'n chambers.

The slender pitcher filled
With girlish dreams, held in
Within the iron will, the gleaming gild
Never to fling what's precious -
Only to Precious, surrender.

Wanton in passion,
Pure in beauty, the ache
Released. Exchanged to earn
Another pain vulnerable.

Orphaned

Burning tears, please don't flood my heart.

Wincing, away from watching eyes,
She clutched her knees to stop
Burning tears from scorching,
Evidence of the depth, summised
Into the chain of feelings, thoughts
Hidden in every beat of heart's ache.

Fading, she feels herself falling
Falling like ashes of non-existence,
Burning tears raged inside her
The whirpool of fire trailing
To the throat. The shaking churns,
Her blood thins, so everything blurs.

Age

The sun is young, the sea
Younger still, the trees
Are but a bud in time
And man, not even old as thyme!

Yet mine eye seeks the Age
Whose strength like a youth
Of seventeen, against the sun
Unrivalled be, The sea He took
As a student in the pool of time.

Doubt

The gnawing worm found my heart
Sweet and juicy faith - rotting

Leaving The Past

Awoken, her eyes turned up into his,
Flames dancing but of a different sort,
Burning liquid surging from her feet,
The strength of a woman, not in the least
like Catherine's sister, accepting her lot,
No - dignity that raises heads, eyes alit.

Smiling, she spoke of confidence
Of faith in Creator and Friend,
Father who provides, who loves and protects,
His eyes piqued, not expecting a distance,
More of a plea for his return, then,
Her burning tears, now joyous, no lack
Flow with praises, free with godly defiance.

Burning tears please don't flood my heart,
Let me stay hopeful, and not in bitterness live,
Flow out instead a river of joy
Faith proclaiming, love still giving.

Finding Treasures

I took a walk up to Rocky Butte. The sun in my eye, peeking through the leaves, evidence of another day of miracles. It wasn't one of those intentional health walks. Just a dilly-dally kind of walk where I poke my nose into the bushes and stare the flowers shy. I wasn't alone. God decided to come along too. We haven't had one of those for a long time. Our private nature walks - where my eyes drink in the beauty around and I ooh-ahh appropriately to my walking Partner. I make silly comments about the crooked tree and the obstinate clump of ferns that decided to grow on a dying branch. He grunts. Sometimes, He laughs. Most times, He just nods knowingly of secrets I dare not ask about. We walked up to the peak of Rocky Butte and I sat down on the stony wall, grabbing the sides, not wanting to share Humpty-Dumpty's fate of falling over. My walking Partner pointed to the two grand mountains, the rocks beginning to show through the melting white. I complimented Him on His creativity and power. We looked at the trees of different shapes and sizes, some graceful in the wind, others majestic and tall. Then He leaned over and told me a secret. An open secret really. "Ching, I know every detail of what happens in and around that tree over there. I am there watching every time each new needley leaf pokes through the base of the bud. I know the name of the same little brown bird that sits contently on his branch, each time the sun bursts orange in the sky. Look at the Willamette River. I know every detail of each living creature swimming in her. How much more do I know about the details of your heart's dream, your life's disappointments, hopes and strivings? More than that Ching... I care enough to do something about it. I care enough to make My every eternal plan to bless you - a reality."

Lord, I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.