The Next Page of the Book

The Next Page of the Book

(“Depend on the Lord in whatever you do, and your plans will succeed.” Proverbs 16:3)

So much depends on how we carry our load and how
heavy it sits upon your back. There are some who would
steal your soul
to upend the work you’ve done to wake up where you are.
The mistakes you’ve made only take you closer to
learning what is no longer needed. The image of God you have
needs to be erased so only the naked reality remains.
Half of it was prayer, half of it was doubt,
the day remained misunderstood whether cloudy or bright.
He was sure there were few who knew or understood the
ransacking his brain had endured or how late the scars remained
after the pain.
He wasn’t sure about healing, or what it meant. Too many
wounds
were self-inflicted, others were done by those practicing their
religious vows. He wasn’t sure what was worse, or whether faith
was still part of the picture at all.

He understood little the longer he contemplated what remained
and the change of scenery hadn’t paid off anyway.
He was distressed it came to this; he was silent about
all the rest.
He had been depending on divine intervention for so long
it felt like his breath in winter, vapor vanishing in the air.
He had been hoping for renewed inventions but his hopes
were too high
and they seemed to fly past his field of vision.

And yet anyone looking at his surroundings would conclude
the plans had come together full. He knew that. It was
all in his head. And he knew that now as well.

He decided to turn the next page of the book he was reading.

Checking the Score

 
Checking the Score

(“For the Lord, the Holy One of Israel, has said: ‘You will be delivered by returning and resting; your strength will lie in quiet confidence.’” Isaiah 30:15)

I checked the score and no one was winning--
that is not true; I was losing.

My numbers did not add up,
my mind was numb with counting.
The walls turned on their foundations,
the windows were tinted and reflected
nothing back.
The room was filled with voices like lava,
everyone sat in the cheap seats while
the balcony was empty.

I checked the manuscript and no one was reading--
that is not true; I was writing.

Records show, if you are inclined to look,
that my ideas have been loose as rain tied into knots.
My grades were good, only my performance suffered.
The strain to forget was a night-full of mosquitoes,
the reminders, weeds untamed. They were housed
in my brain so long the attic was moldy.

I checked ratings and no one was watching--
that is not true; I had been recorded.

But I no longer care who sees or scores,
what unsavory secrets are stored in recent
and ancient files. They are hefty with my
under-deeds. They are filled with tales I
will not refute.

I checked with heaven; checked in.
All was quiet as the day before creation,
the day after resurrection.

To Give You Pause

To Give You Pause

(“As soon as Jehudi finished reading three or four columns, the king cut them off with a small knife and threw them into the fire. He kept doing this until the entire scroll was burned up.” Jeremiah 36:23)

Of all the scripts and quatrains,
plays and prophecy, epics on papyrus,
battles recorded in cuneiform,
or shopping lists on ostraca,
ever discovered in Palestinian caves,
Nag Hammadi or Alexandria;

Of all the word that is written,
from tongue to pen or stylus,
more has been stung by power
masquerading as benevolent
editors for the masses.

Read them while you can, young ears,
dig beneath the pages the poets fill sparsely,
breathe between the words, the

s
t
o
p

meant to give you pause.

Selah.

Form the words round like apples,
tell the tales passed down the annals
from aunts to nieces, the bits and pieces
filled by the color of age and rendition.

From the heroes who fight like gods above us,
to forests where honey runs for deer and cubs;
read the dusty one set down weeks and years,
peek in streaks through anthologies and catalogues
of high jumps and the most burps in a sitting;
and open the locked ones, the blocked ones,
the hidden you’ve only heard talked about in
hushed tones and forbidden.

Open the pages, let them open the sky,
open the vowels, the consonants, sentences,
and paragraphs; tables, columns and dialogue;
the styles adorning the naked truth,
the Word made Flesh by the first utterance:

“Good”.