The Limits of Mortality

Agency

By: the iHope Poet

Mortality's a raging sea
Because God gave us agency.
And though we cannot part the waves,
We may choose Christ to pave our way;
And help us walk amidst the storm,
As tall and calm as He performed.
For God, He gave us agency,
So let us brave the raging sea.

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Couldn't, Wouldn't

By: the iHope Poet

I don't know how to make you see,

I don't.

I taught you all that I believe,

and rushed to calm you anxious pleas.

Yet, after all I try to do, you don't.

God knows how to make you see,

but won't.

His love's the source of all belief,

His word commands both land and sea,

and yet, He'll wait for you, because

you won't.

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Fruitless

Being Broken 

By: the iHope Poet 

I am a weak person 

and I break a lot of things

but by far my greatest weakness 

is knowing that I'm broken 

and wishing that I wasn't 

- that wishing just breaks me. 

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You Deserve the World

From years before... 

Not Big Enough

By: the iHope Poet

I wanted to give you the world.

And I tried.

But my world was too big for you --

You couldn't return the favor.

and I was put on hold.

You deserve all the happiness in the world.

But you won't take mine.

You deserve someone you can give everything to

Before they have the chance to give anything at all.

But you wait for me to give first every time.

You can't even say those three words anymore.

And because I see now

How you just can't have

That kind of love with me,

I'm finally

Letting you go.

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Too Much to Say

This is Not All of It

By: The iHope Poet

I want to write down all 

the thoughts in my head:

All the words that are said and 

the feelings I dread, and 

the ones that I love...

All the things that I've done 

and the girl I've become... 

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...All the people I live with, 

the things that we share, and 

the burdens we bare, and 

the way that we care;

all the dreams that we can't help 

but dream everywhere... 

Even though I can't thank them, 

nor ever repay them, I try 

to relive them, and breathe them, 

and share them. 

I just want to write them all down 

with this pen. 

But I can't seem to draw out

the thoughts in my head. 

New Fears

Trounced
By: the iHope Poet

And now my great fear

of falling in love, is trounced

by letting love go.

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On Phone Calls

Missed

By: the iHope Poet

I saw your name light up my screen

And panicked when I heard the ring.

There is a fear inside of me

that you don't really care to talk.

And so I waited till it passed --

I held my breath and watched the clock. 

I didn't answer when you called,

I'm sure that you can understand.

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Ghosts

Pushing Cares

By: the iHope Poet

I pushed a ghost on the swing today,

I lifted her worries and cares.

At the park, she and I watched the weight of the world

while it soared, as if naught, through the air.

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when the timing is wrong

Time is a Crooked Thing

By: the iHope Poet

The hour hand on my pocket watch

is crooked in its place. 

I check it several times a day,

and try to match its passive face. 

Life never fails -- the sun comes up 

and sets again each night,

even though my pocket watch 

cannot predict the times quite right. 

And every day I see you there, 

I try to look away. 

The struggle with the hour hand 

all started when you came to say, 

My Darling, you will find at times

that time itself will flee.  

And fragile moments come and go

without the use of clocks and things.

When counting on my pocket watch 

to tell when love will pass, 

I hope you know I've learned quite well, 

the crooked hand will never last. 

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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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Two days I said "I love you"

thought I saw him cry
I guess I just imagined

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that he cared at all.

could have sworn I saw
him cry. Guess I was a fool
to think he loved me.

can't believe he's gone
and there's a tear he left for
me to cry over.

On a lonely night

On Blood Moons and Kisses
By: the iHope Poet

It's a blood moon tonight;

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there's smoke in the air --
that's clouding my senses,
and I used to care, but
It's a blood moon tonight,
so I don't.

It's raining tomorrow;
the birds have all flown --
they have left me behind
and, though I used to mind,
It's raining tomorrow,
so I don't.

You kissed me goodbye
without even a tear.
And I cried and I cried,
and I clung to my fears, but
You kissed me goodbye.

So I won't.

Paper Cuts

Slivers and Hidden Wounds
By: the iHope Poet

I had you in my hands, with my fingers tightly gripping yours.
Didn't realize, when you slipped, how fast the blood would start to pour.

I've seen strength dissolve to tears, and trust turn into fear and doubt.
Sticks and stones can break my soul, and slivers sometimes don't come out.

So suddenly I lost my grip - I lost the hope I used to hold,
that the plans I made were meant to be. I dropped the rope I used to pull.

Then, when you let me let you go, without so much as a passing care,
I never thought the hidden wound would sting with such enflamed despair.

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February Blues

The Path That Leads Nowhere
By: the iHope Poet

When there's a lot to hope for, there's even more to lose.
We built our bridges halfway
And ignored the fateful drop as we made our way across.

I chose this path. I chose to lose my heart to you.
And I knew the fall would come sooner or later.
But sometimes we close our eyes when we sense the pain is coming.
Sometimes we choose to live blindly instead of living out of fear.

The love I have for you gave me every bit of that flying sensation I longed for.
Head over heels all the way to the bottom.

You gave me a stepping stone above the deep, dark waters.
A love that covered my eyes like a soft, lingering hand.
Words that lulled me to sleep; as I turned my back to the unfinished overpass -- anxious
for the imminent plunge.

And now that this is over, let's just say I knew the fall would come
sooner or later.
But the water slapped my face just a moment too soon.

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You can only go so far across a broken bridge. 

Really real

all White
By: the iHope Poet

Beneath the black backdrop of the sky,
the crisp, white ground is simply serene.
It makes the world seem clean
and pure and sweet.
Because no one can tell what the blank sheet of ice
conceals underneath.
And they won't try to notice,
until the slick dust is revealed in the mid light of day.
Well, for all the dirt and rotten filth of decay
found evident in these melted puddles of mud,
           perhaps no one really wants to know.

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Trail of Thorns

pins and needles make a crier
burning knives slide down my cheeks
blood is boiling
heart is pounding
beating out its final beats

sharpest pain releases slowly
making tears such tearful things
sobs are brimming
inhales chilling
headache comes with stabbing ring

crying isnt all that painful
pins and needles only come
once the tears have left me empty
and my soul has come undone

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Even though.

Knives and Hammers

By: the iHope Poet

Knives and hammers clash a lot.

You bash on me, I stab at you;

It's hard to not avenge the pain,

when we don't think before we do.

Bloody cries of battle wounds --

they make no difference in the war.

As long as I can scream out too,

I guess the fight will last some more.

The sad thing is, the screeching

of the metal never ends.

What's more, it seems to justify 

our words, so cold and rent.

I wish that I could stop

and hide my knife away for good;

that you could stop the pounding --

then we'd both be understood.

Well, even though I recognize

our fighting is in vain,

knifes and hammers clash a lot.

I will avenge my pain!

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There is a girl

Girl of Glass
By: the iHope Poet

There are many kinds of rebellion.
Rebellion to make a statement,
rebellion to make a change,
rebellion to simply not conform.
Well I don't have a statement to make,
or a change yet to pursue,
but I refuse to comply
to the world,
so easily accepted by all.

There are words that hurt more than others.
Some are said to touch the soul,
some to cruelly pierce the poor and wounded.
And mine, to sting the lies
that no one else thinks twice about.

There is a girl who is not particularly
smaller or bigger than who she lets show.
The mirror doesn't display some stranger
when she looks inside.
The fact is, she tries to be honest about herself
to everyone around her.
Honest, so that as she grows,
the world outside does too.

The only thing keeping her from showing more
is the thin glass wall, where people can see through,
but are kept from hearing what she has to say.
Because there are truths that must be spoken,
change that you cannot see, but only hear.

There is a girl who is true to herself.
She has no curtains to cower behind,
no stage to act on or doors to lock.
Though perhaps she has nothing better to say
than any comedian, reporter, or brilliant speaker,
the glass alone, unbreakable from the inside out,
keeps her truth she wants to tell 
from really being known.

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The sky dropped buckets . . .

On a clear, blue day. 

By: the iHope Poet

The sun was here the other day. 

It promised it would stay

a while. 

The clouds were white and far away, 

yet lingered, as if threat'ning bile.

Today those clouds have lowered, thick, 

and though the skies are still so blue, 

I see the world in grays and blacks. 

And white is gone, the sunshine, too. 

So much for promises of lasting sun,

so much for hope of days to come.

The rain is here today, 

and I

can only look towards the sky. 

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Hospital Gowns . . . and one fallen leaf.

The Waiting Room Outside.
By: the iHope Poet

You wouldn't think to marvel at the beauty of pain.
But I do.
You probably wouldn't notice the few leaves (this time of year) blowing
through the wind on the ground; rustling against the pavement -- the echo of death
mockingly grating against a sacred silence.
But I did.
I couldn't just sit there and hear talk of still-breath and funeral plans when,
just inside, just a left turn down the hall and through a door,
laying on a bed with the t.v. flashing and muted, she's there.
She, with all the blood and the tubes and the wilted skin,
and the monitors that always find a reason to beep! 
She, with the metal Christmas tree, in the middle of June, upon which hangs prescription ornaments dangling in clear plastic bags, with all these labels that mean nothing to me,
and yet, mean the difference between her life and death --
She's there.

And breathing.
Not a limp leaf, scrambling across the grounds as the wind teases its hopelessness.
Not a body just yet, but a spirit. A soul. Grasping for help as she struggles with the pain and the fear.
It isn't easy, fighting pain. But harder still is having the courage to fight the fear of pain.
She has that courage.
The courage to say a prayer, over and over, to be comforted when it would be easier
to panic and give in.
And she does not.

For the beauty of the pain she grapples with;
for the time she spends conquering her fears --
and all of ours.
For the beauty of that dead leaf, on the ground;
God only knows how long it struggled on the branches, before
the wind overcame its strength.

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Again and Again pt 2

On Glass Cages

I look in front of me and I see the world beyond, the road ahead, the pavement my feet are anxious to tread. My thirsty gaze drinks it all in, but my fingertips know what holds me back. An unseen barrier filters through the vision of what lays before me, yet denies me passage to continue the journey.

In reality I’m free, but I see the fish in front of me is not. He swims in earnest, agitated circles, but does he know what I know? Does he understand his fate in the bowl, or has he forgotten already?

Glass jars hold many objects, from swimming life to canned goods, their walls are both sanctuaries as well as cages. In many ways, I feel as if I stand behind their transparent walls myself -- perhaps as if drifting in a bottle in an open sea, tossed upon the waves of day-to-day experience -- or else sitting still in a panic, or banging against the glass, longing to break free and move. Some may consider the boundaries of a jar and think of safety and peace. I do not.

When I think of glass itself I often shudder, simply because the idea of seeing potential yet knowing it is not mine to reach is harrowing.

But I am not talking about many of the social barriers that perhaps you, reader, would associate with this scenario. For myself I do not speak of stereotypical “glass ceilings”, equal rights or free choice only; rather, I relate to the freedom of speech. Just days ago I discovered the limitations that come from a world of glass barricades, where people fight for the illusion of freedom but lock away those who have deeper perception by staying them from speaking out against the glass. I remember the tremors that coursed through my body as I realized how silenced I felt, incapable of being heard clearly by all those who chose not to hear, or else couldn’t for the sake of the jar that separated them from me. I felt as though my desperate grasp on reality, leaving sweaty fingerprints smeared on the window that blocked my words, was slowly tearing to shreds.

The obstacle I speak of exudes a wider view than that which is seen by a goldfish, a message in a bottle, or even a freethinker. I find myself trapped in a cage that shows me the world, as it disintegrates before my eyes, while I and the people who, somewhere, stand beside me, are forced to watch helplessly; though we know what we could say and do if only we were truly free.

This cage is not one typically considered, yet it exists. Even more startling, it traps those outside its walls as well. The words I am “free to speak” do not often break past the thickness of the glass, leaving those who lie beyond with deaf ears and single-minded thoughts. My question is then, what freedom do we really have? What are we losing? And what are we truly fighting for?

If we are ever to answer these we need to learn to see the glass and not through it. For that is the key to setting the fish free, to cracking the code from the bottle, or to hearing those who are simply not heard anymore in today’s society.

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