Poetry

This is a collection of the poetry I've written and posted, organized by the order I posted it in.
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Dream
A man walks up to me,
With hair of grey,
And a long tattered coat
That looks too old to say.

I wonder his name,
His purpose and plan.
Why does he want me?
This ancient man.

I’m an ordinary girl.
Nothing special at all.
Few friends and no talent,
Quite unremarkable.

I’m no star athlete,
No beauty queen,
No smart kid, no dummy
I’m just plain old me.

I look into his eyes,
And see many years,
I see love, I see kindness,
And no kinds of fears.

He looks back at me,
And I see in his gaze
Bravery and strength,
And a king’s ways.

I ask him “Sir,
Why do you care,
To single me out,
From the crowds everywhere?

There are others far better-
Smarter and cooler.
I’m a nobody, sir,
And you seem a great ruler.

What is your name, sir?
And why do you come
To me on this day,
When in my life there’s no sun?”

He smiles at me,
And I hear him reply
With a kind and strong voice,
And a loving eye.

“You aren’t a nobody,
You’re special, unique!
You have special talents,
Which you need to seek!

You say others are better,
That they’re smarter and cooler.
Well as you have guessed,
I am a ruler.

You are my child,
A Princess of Light,
But do not fear,
Just fight the good fight.”

I start to ask questions,
Say “I don’t understand!”
But he stops me from asking,
And squeezes my hand.

“Few understand
When they’re first called by me.
But keep learning more,
And then you will see.”

He hands me a book,
Old and weathered.
But the page edges glint gold,
And it’s covered it leather.

I glimpse golden letters
On the brown cover.
In my head I suspect
That it’s like no other.

“Guard this and read it,”
The old man tells me.
“And don’t try to pay-
My gift comes free.”

He turns to leave,
And I rush after him.
But I cannot catch up,
And my vision goes dim.

Everything turns black,
I rub my eyes.
Then, they open-
What a surprise!

I’m lying in bed,
In my own room.
Was it just a dream?
I wonder and muse.

Then my eyes fall on a book
That is clutched in my hand.
It’s bound it brown leather,
With gold pages and

When I take a close look,
The writing shines gold!
Is it the book from my dream?
It’s battered and old.

I think It must be!
Then read the words.
“The Tale of the King,
Holy Bible,” they say.

I learn the true story,
Of the world and of God.
A story that many
Consider quite odd.

All have been called,
To love and serve Him,
But choice is not to be made
On a hunch or a whim.
Will you answer the call?
Think long and hard.
For while all are welcome,
The journey is hard.

Will you take the risk?
Will you open your heart?
I will tell you though-
The end’s better than the start.
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It Happens to Us All
It happens to us all.
Everyone.
No one is spared.
Rich and poor alike.
It happens to us all.
We fall.
Drop.
Go down.
So far down.
We fail.
Fall short.
Don’t make it.
We loose.
Get beaten.
Come in last.
Need to do better.
But
We get back up.
Stand up.
Stand tall.
Stay strong.
We try again.
Redo it.
Get a second chance.
Remake it.
We win.
Beat the odds.
Come in first.
Are better.
It happens to us all.
Old and young alike.
No one is left out.
Everyone.
It happens to us all.
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Campfire
A light springs up.
Small branches
And logs
Disappear.
Flames dance,
Casting
Eerie shadows
In the dark forest.
It’s a good night
For ghosts.
We sit around the campfire.
We talk.
We sing.
We tell tales
Of adventure,
Ghosts,
And legends.
I close my eyes
And then open them.
I am in a different world.
Away from the noise
And rush
Of everyday life.
As I look around,
My imagination begins to work its magic.
Perhaps
I am,
Perhaps
We are
Knights, Swordmaidens, and adventurers
On a grand quest.
Perhaps
I am,
Perhaps
We are
Elves on a journey.
Perhaps
I am,
Perhaps
We are,
In Narnia
Or Middle Earth,
And we’re going to meet a legend.
Perhaps
We’re on a search for dragons.
It’s a good night
For adventure.
I blink.
And
The world is normal.
I’m,
We’re
Ordinary people
Sitting around a campfire
And
Dreaming,
Imagining what else we could be.
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The Treasure
Before me lies
A book,
With thin crisp pages,
And a purple leather cover.
Some call it a pack of lies,
Some call it a book of myths.
I call it a treasure.
Ancient as time,
Yet with messages as new as the day,
The words within speak through the ages.
The Truth,
The survival guide for life,
I call it a treasure.
Some people scoff at it,
In some places,
It’s illegal.
But nothing,
No persecution,
No laws,
No corruptness,
Nothing
Can stop the spread of truth.
I call it a treasure.
Sometimes it’s found in a paperback book,
Sometimes a hardcover volume.
Some have fancy ones,
Fine leather and gold-edged pages,
Like something left over from the days of King Arthur.
One of mine is in a cloth cover with handles,
The other is wrapped in elegant purple leather.
I call it a treasure.
A miracle,
A guidebook,
A wondrous tale,
From the lips of the Great King,
The tale of the Prince of Peace,
The word of God,
It is The Treasure.
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Search for Peace
Voices whirl around me,
A maelstrom of sound and confusion.
I struggle to block them out,
To find a quiet spot,
To be along with my thoughts,
To find peace.
My world is disrupted,
No peace can be found,
No time to spare.
I search for peace.
I search and cannot find it.
Where is peace to be found?
Even when I am alone
I hear voices.
Voices of fear and worry,
Whispers of what must be done,
Of what I have not done,
What I wish to do,
And what I cannot do.
I try not to listen,
But they overwhelm me,
Drowning me in a whirlpool of business.
Finally,
Desperately,
I pray,
Giving my worries to God.
For peace comes only from the Lord,
Only He can give us what we seek.
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The Lay of Lucius
All seemed calm in the Kingdom of Light that day,
The day that rebellion began and took peace away.
Luce, the Commander, second to one,
Wished once and for all to be second to none.
Slowly consumed by jealous desire;
He was the first to turn from shining light to burning fire.
 He plotted rebellion, and not just on his own;
To promising Warriors his plan was slowly shown.
First to fall was Socorro, who lost his way,
Looking to Luce instead of the Great King one day.
Luce promised him power and lured him away,
Though Socorro hesitated, Luce held him in sway.
And so spread the darkness as Warriors fell
To an enemy within of which none would tell.
One by one, until a third of the Warriors were consumed,
And in going their own way, they went to their doom.
The day finally came when long before dawn,
Luce deemed it time for to go far beyond
Subtleness and trickery; the time had come to rise!
He gave his rebels their orders, and with ambition in their eyes,
They prepared for battle and planned to succeed.
Alas, the doom that came by their plans to lead!
The Great King was not unaware; he knew of their plan.
He knew the sorrow that would come over all the land.
Luce came before him, with cloaked intent.
“Great King,” said he, “If some of your time could be lent,
There is something that must be said, which you must hear.”
He seemed still loyal, though a careful ear
Could hear that he was not, that his voice, smooth as silk,
Held a slight mocking tone, the rebellion of him and his ilk.
The Great King looked on him, solemn and grave,
He knew the events that would transpire that day.
“Speak your mind, Luce, why have you come?
Why are you here long before the sun?”
Luce might have attacked, but he held in his blade.
Said he instead, “Some changes should be made;
There are those who are discontent, filled with unrest,
Would not to satisfy them be the best?”
The Great King replied, calm and composed,
“Discontent has been spread in the hearts of those
By one who has turned away from My way,
It is not because of what they do not have this day.”
Luce scowled, and drew his blade.
“Perhaps this you say, but changes will be made,
And I will make them, this I declare.”
Luce charged the Great King to do battle there.
The Great King met him, light against dark,
That one battle, all would do well to mark.
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The Blame
Forced to die
A criminal’s death,
Though in all things
You were innocent.

Turned against and denied;
Beaten and betrayed,
By those who You loved;
Those who You made.

And who shares in their guilt?
Certainly not I!
I was not there
When You were sentenced to die.

It was not I
Who called out from the crowd;
It was not I
Who denied you aloud.

I did not drive
The nails in Your hands;
I did not help
In the Pharisee’s plans.

And yet, perhaps I
Share some of the blame,
Though I did not live
In the time that You came.

For it was I
Who sinned against You;
And it was I
Who tried to go without You.

It was indeed I
Who went my own way,
And it was I
Whose sins You did pay.

Yes, it was my sins
That You bore on the tree.
It was because of those sins
That You died for me.

And yet even though my sins
Led to Your death,
You still forgave me
In Your final breath.

And when You said
That it was done,
Those sins were wiped clean
The battle was won.

You died for us all,
For we all share in the blame,
But for those who trust You,
There is no shame.

And when the last trumpet sounds
And the world is made new
Those who accept Your forgiveness
Will have a home with You.

Simply because
You loved us so much
That you carried our sins
In Your death on the cross.
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 Note: This next poem was written as the prologue for my 2012 Camp NaNoWriMo novel, Monster in the Tower.

Hidden Secrets
Trees of silver,
Dust of gold,
Cover a heart
Of dirt and mold.
Sisters twelve
Trapped on high
In a tower reaching
To the sky.
Secrets kept
For darker plan;
Someone save us
But who can?
Names of power,
Names of trust,
Expose the dirt
Beneath the dust.
But when warnings fall
On deaf ears
And only one sees;
Only one hears,
Who will save us?
Who will come?
Bring us out
Beneath the sun?
One sets out
To save the day
While other heroes
Come our way.
But who can see
Beneath the dust
To the heart that’s made
Of mold and rust?
-Pansy of the Hidden Tower
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 The Mercy Song
When Adam fell to Satan’s lies,
His act brought on a curse
That spread throughout the song of life,
Corrupting every verse.

Now mankind wears the stains of sin,
The marks of every wrong.
And from his lips, no holy hymn;
He spews a darkened song.

The Creator sings his love for us,
Despite the stains we wear,
He wishes us to dwell with him,
His presence still to share.

But Satan shouts a Chaos Song,
Of pleasures of the flesh,
Everywhere we turn, ‘tis there,
Tempting us afresh.

Most just hear the Chaos Song,
But some desire more.
Following God’s song of love,
They come to the holy door.

But perfect God and red sin stains
Must always stay apart.
And how can mankind dwell with God
If the curse is in his heart?

Oh, who can wash these bloody stains
Into the purest white?
Who can turn a lowly squire
Into a holy knight?

Only one can wash the stains
And right what’s been made wrong.
Through His death, Jesus broke the curse;
Now He sings the Mercy Song.

To those who do believe,
New life He gives away.
All we have to do is ask;
He’ll give it any day.

Jesus turns the red to white
And washes all the stains.
He raises up a holy knight
Who sings a hymn of praise.

Oh, will you heed the Mercy Song
That flows down from above?
The choice is yours, to scorn or take
This holy gift of love.

And the Chaos Song that Satan spews
Falls lower every day
A soul does choose the Mercy Song
And follows Jesus’ way.
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The Terrible Shriek of Carrie du Kaye
Once, long ago, in a land far away
There was a fair princess called Carrie du Kaye
It cannot be denied that she was quite good
At doing the things all princesses should-
Like dancing and sewing and being polite
(Even to people she didn’t quite like)
And playing the lute and singing so sweet
And keeping clothes and hair so nice and neat.
But one thing about this princess just must be said:
When it came to a fuss, she could not keep her head!
At the mere sight of blood she’d faint dead away.
(Once she didn’t wake up for a night and a day!)
And if the smallest of bees should be flying around,
She’d scream and she’d cry until all heard the sound.
So, knowing this knowledge, it’s no wonder, you see,
That when one day a dragon dropped by at tea
And carried her off, away through the sky,
Princess Carrie du Kaye let out a great cry.
So very loud and long was her shout on that day
That it scared every bird so they flew far away.
They flew with the insects ‘til they couldn’t hear Carrie’s cry.
But the poor dragon was wondering why
He’d had to pick this fair maiden to snatch-
Surely there were quieter girls he could catch!
Her scream just went on, and for a half-hour he endured
Carrie’s carrying-on, with nary a word.
Then, finally, he thought to himself,
“It’s certainly not worth, it not if she were an elf!”
(Every dragon knows in these parts
That catching an elf is a sign of great smarts.)
“She’s far too loud; I can’t hear myself think,”
This he decided in the space of a wink.
So he turned back around just like that
And took Princess Carrie home in ten minutes flat!
And not even once did he e’er darken her door-
Nor any dragon, forevermore!
So that is the story of how and of why,
Princess Carrie du Kaye, with her terrified cry,
Forced a great dragon to take her home
And, furthermore, to leave her alone.
The moral of the tale: if by dragon you’re caught,
Give Princess Carrie’s tale a short thought
And scream long and loud so the dragon can hear
And hope that your screaming will very much hurt his ears!

4 comments:

  1. You are THE best!
    I recently wrote a poem it's up on my blog-
    www.annanyapriyadarshini.blogspot.com

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  2. Even though many of these are long, you kept them together nicely--no small task! Hidden Secrets is wonderful! I'd love to read the novel it is the prologue for.

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    Replies
    1. Thank you! And thank you again! I'm hoping to edit it next summer, so hopefully after that I'll show it to a few people.

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