Soul-Expanding

The Blip 

By: the iHope Poet

When the big things are little 

and the little feel big, 

when the waves of sheer longing 

make your heart feel like lead,

and you don't have a reason 

to be stuck in your head;

but you  do, and you are 

since you're lost in The Blip.                                                     

It was just a few moments 

in the grand scheme of things,

and it ended so quickly, 

so it's hard to believe 

that it happened at all, 

but you know how you feel. 

And it doesn't feel good 

to be lost in The Blip. 

You don't blink for the fear 

that you'll lose all the proof 

of the challenge you're facing, 

the pain you've lived through. 

It consumes you, it changed you,

short-lived though it was, 

and you cling with your might

to hold onto The Blip. 

In due time, you remember 

there is rest to reclaim 

through the grace of the One 

who has suffered the same. 

Then, embraced in His love, 

filled with pure, refined joy,

your whole soul is expanded 

coming out of The Blip. 

     

         Lovetta Reyes Cairo Art via 

Soul and Body

Falter

By: the iHope Poet

"Awake, and Rise!"

The angels cry;

and though I try to stand,

my mortal frame gives way to sleep,

I cannot lift my head.

The time has come

and so they beckon

those who long to bless.

My heart's so willing, yet I'm weak

in matters of the flesh.

My head will bow

without its strength,

that's when I plead for grace.

Vision falters, legs collapse,

But I'll still seek His face.

He Hears You

Merely Seeds 

By: the iHope Poet

Some would say that miracles

come in times of greatest need.

From what I've seen, God plants them

in our lives as merely seeds.

We carry them along with us

without a second thought;

through every walk of life we tread

their nourishment is wrought.

Somewhere along the journey,

as we learn and strive and fall,

there come moments when we realize

that we need a miracle.

Our prayers and pleas will follow,

not a single cry unheard:

Father knows us and He sees us

long before we feel the hurt.

And those tiny seeds he planted

now as sprouts and even trees

come to light as faith demands them -

they fulfill our deepest needs.

So when trials may beset you,

and you're pleading for His aid,

dont forget His loving timing,

how He listened when you prayed.

If you're asked to wait in patience

for His miracles to grow,

you can trust in Father's wisdom

and the blessings He has sown.

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Butterflies and Wishing Wells

The Fire

By: the iHope Poet

I forgot about the butterflies,

their wings that keep me up at night,

the dreams that make me wish that I

was somewhere flying next to you.

I forgot about the bashful smiles,

the frequent grins from broad to mild,

and how they make my heart go wild

for someone just across the room.

I forgot about the fiery surge

that comes with such a rampant scourge

of passion, gold, and wishing, bold,

from praying what will last is you.

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Somehow Full

Broken Open
By: the iHope Poet

I'm raw today
& open.
I'm not afraid to cry.
My heart is broke,
but full of hope,
& turned towards
the sky.

A prayer.

Lasting is the Trial
By: the iHope Poet

Waiting is a prayer.
A hope that swells so full inside,
and stirs up the air of your day in a stride.

Longing is a loss.
It pours your soul out on the floor,
all joys are tossed for the sake of what's more.

And lasting,
Lasting is the trial.
Requiring such a drawn-out while.

So much will and deep-end struggle,
longing for respite somewhere.
But waiting is the prayer.

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Inspired

This Way

By: the iHope Poet

A lighthouse illuminates the way,

its beacon calling me 

apart from the dark, bleak world. 

It echos, it shines, it cries, 

"This way to safety, this way to home." 

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"There is no fog so dense, no night so dark, no gale so strong, no mariner so lost but what its beacon light can rescue. It beckons through the storms of life. It calls, 'This way to safety; this way to home.”

~ President Thomas S. Monson

A Gray Thought

Why I love the Color Gray

First, I loved it for its contribution to rain. As a little girl I was so fascinated by the dark clouds, thick sky, and heavy wind that always meant a rain storm was on its way. Gray was the theme of every rainstorm - it still is. And I still love it. I do not always have the time to dance in the puddles like I used to, but my appreciation for God's Teardrops remains the same. 

Then, I loved it for its temperance. A perfect blend of two extremes of the spectrum. Black and white. Gray. For whatever reason I felt a need to become gray myself - not too much of anything. Yet, as I grew older still, I learned and realized that my enemies love the color for the very same reason. 

Evil and good. Gray. 

If it all blends together, who's to say there's any truth left in this world? 

And so, desperately, I searched for the real, final reason of why this color could possibly mean so much to me. And I have found it in my poetry. 

I love the color gray for the same reason I love the gospel. For the same reason I look to Christ. For the same reason I love the smell of rain, and the same reason I have a journal of poems entitled iHope. 

Gray reflects Potential. 

It insinuates Hope and Possibility. 

It brightens the black sky, and shines through the end of the tunnel to remind me that, though all is not perfectly right yet, though the sun does not always shine directly above me, light is on its way. 

When I see gray, I remember that I am not lost. 

I remember that I still have a destination, I still have purity to attain; but that I am no longer hopeless. 

No longer alone. 

The Devil loves Gray for its shadow. I love it for its light. 

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Only Not.

Like Calling for Christmas. (but it isn't Christmas)
By: the iHope Poet

To that thought at the tip of my tongue,
this page in the grip of an anxious hand,
To the words at the end of this chapter,
where the sentence is long, unfinished and dry;
I say, Where Are You?

To the burden, though lifted, still heavy,
those scars that relentlessly tear,
To my drooping eyelids and forever-spent nights,
when the burn of the burn-out is never unfelt;
I say, Where?

Where is the perspective, the horizon of dreams?
where is the throb in my legs -- now gone numb --
from the running, somewhere, somewhere; where?
Though I hold my eyes open, with a finger or two,
where is the sight of that hope, once so clear,
which is now as blurry as dawn behind closed lids?

To the strength to press onward,
I say, Find Me.
Because for you I have searched on and on.
And on. Because of you.

To the love of all things clarity, 
Please, Find Me.
But until then, I say,
Where?

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we are called Legions

Legions
By: the iHope Poet

When legions of shadow grow wild and free
in the darkness, which we are unwilling to see --
When the blindness of hearts and uninhibited greed have gathered
so fierce and so bold must we be,

To bring back the light that is shuttered from view
as the mind reawakens through torment and gloom.
For the blackness of evil will only collapse and decay
if we gather to fight off the cumbersome doom --

With all of our efforts, of light repossessed,
with fear left behind us, and courage refreshed.
No turning back now, now that they are suppressed and in need.
Are we not apart of this world in distress?

For though there are many, of shadow and hate,
we know what we're fighting and will not forsake
This cause which we stand for and take with our lives,
yes, we fight in legions,
With legions of light.

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of the King of Kings

Far Above

By: the iHope Poet

There is a blessing, perhaps in the form of a curse . . .

It is a hope of all hopes

to look into the face of doubt

and see the impossible reflect in its eyes

A faith of all faiths

to shine through the night, even

when raging winds threaten to snuff out the flame

It is trust, above all other trust, 

to relinquish one's fingers 

into the unseen hand of whatever fate may be named

And a promise of all promises,

which requires each of these efforts, 

and in turn grants the bravest, wisest and strongest of hearts

 . . . to that soul who stuck to his guns

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Hopes and Expectations

Maybe I Will

By: the iHope Poet

Cry me a river and float me upstream.

Blow through the oceans, and storm up the seas. 

Fight me a battle that seems to be lost --

Then win back the tempest and soak up the shock. 

Someday the world will give up on you. 

Someday I might just give up on you. 

Carry the thunder and rain down the hate. 

Burden the rivers with overflown lakes. 

Flowers at night never seem to rebloom --

Hopefully morning will shine on ours soon.

Someday the hope will give up on you.

Someday I might just give up on you. 

When the time comes, when we finally fall,

Maybe this love will be gone afterall. 

Couldn't we say we gave up on it first?

Shouldn't we leave when it's bound to get worse? yet,

Somehow I can't picture leaving this . . . 

But Someday I might just give up on you. 

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Delirium

Once More

By: the iHope Poet

Hold your tongue,

keep your breath,

don't speak words that you'll regret.

Break the deal, save the lie,

I have love, I won't deny.

Still I say,

don't look back when

you walk away.

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Cuz I'm gone

when you're here,

I've disappeared --

it's delirium, once more.

Rising skies,

sinking sun,

darkness shrouds the younger one.

Holding back, far away,

I won't try to make you stay.

Still I say,

don't look back when

you walk away.

I am gone

when you're here,

I've disappeared,

I guess

it's delirium, once more.

this is so much harder

than I thought it would be
by: the iHope Poet

you've only been gone for a short little while
and I regret missing the moment you left.
still, those words you sent me
left me breathless,
and even now, I realize them over and over again in my heart,
whenever I find myself missing you.

and the pain, the longing . . . I'm working on a mask --
a facade to cover the ache of not seeing you.
I find myself looking frantically, everywhere I go,
for anything that reminds me of you,
keeps me feeling like you're right there, close and waiting.
so that I can fall back into that bubble of air,
where I felt like I could be frozen with you, in time,
and delay the inevitable . . .

all of this hoping, this wishing, this broken, shattered, dissolved fantasy;
while somewhere, far away, you will likely never think of me once,
at least, not
until you come home. . .

let's pretend that day will come soon.

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