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I light a candle to illuminate
thoughts this world holds. Some
I cannot understand,
others simply trying to land
but hover instead. And this song
keeps playing in my head.
I can’t find my way home.
I feel there will be no peace,
not now, not among this culture
of shame and blame.
Not when you question others,
but refuse to question yourself.
Still I light a candle.
I can’t find my way home.
Just beyond the candlelight, I
watch days slip into night, amidst
a maelstrom of discontent,
you never know what is meant.
Look over your shoulder. Look
further through your past.
I can’t find my way home.
Fistfuls of violence, mouthfuls
of reality escape. Thoughts which
should not be free, peace
should not be a luxury. I strike
a match to light up a candle,
to shine a light for hope.
I can’t find my way home.
©2017 j.g. lewis
APRIL is POETRY MONTH
Take a poem to lunch
Posted on April 12, 2020 by j.g.lewisLeave a commentShe first held my hand
five delicate fingers, swallowed up
in my palm. Fingers grasping
at my fingers.
Tiny.
No indication of such a big life.
There was comfort.
Reassurance.
A small hand, I thought I could
hold it forever.
Tighter
to keep it there.
Stop it from growing
The hand has grown, still delicate
there
in my palm.
Now that of a woman
like no others
a part of me.
Like
no other woman.
She is full with
room to grow
to emerge.
She is what I have, and
the one who is
always there.
As I have tried to be.
A strength more than physical
difficult
to comprehend.
A gentle patience, a
small hand,
wisdom larger than
life itself.
I want to hold her hand
a while longer
to reassure
I have done something right
in this world.
When there
I have no questions.
None of myself, as a human being
or otherwise.
I host
too many doubts
which have withered
my ability
to see.
In her I see what I am and
what I could be.
If nothing else,
the one good thing
I can be
and will always be
to her.
j.g. lewis
04/29/2015
We exist
suspended between delay and
that future we are told
is ahead of us. Little advances humanity.
We rush too much, as if it is demanded.
Each of us controls our pace,
or attempts to.
We are here,
bounded by missed connections
and unfortunate
misunderstandings. Nostalgia is not often
favorable. Blind curiosity. We fail to recognize
where we are.
We seek faith.
We do have
the communal capacity, but resist
assistance or the
temptation. Recycling our sins, striving to
keep up with the morally reprehensible,
we try to find
our own Jesus.
j.g.l.
02/21/2018