Beggar

I am so hungry
That I lack the strength
Even to ask
For the very thing I need to live.
Much better to have the need met
Without pleading,
But by simple request.
       Ye have not because ye ask not.
I have asked many times
And have become a beggar,
Knowing that my begging
Will make any accepting harder.
       You have to want it.
I have wanted it,
Craved it,
But wanting for so long begins to hurt.
I can learn to live with hunger
And eventually ignore it.

Jaded

Through my youthful eyes,
I see the garden as perfect,
Untouched,
Naturally beautiful.
The wonder of God’s creative work
Come to life in the quiet majesty
Of a rose.
The sweet-smelling sacrifice of old
Must have been this lilac bush.
I gather daisies
And whisper he-loves-me
Under my breath.
And a butterfly
Whispers praise.

But now,
I am older.
Wiser?
Just wise to what’s really going on.
It’s not untouched.
If it were,
It would be weedy like mine.
(“By the sweat of thy brow.”)
The roses need dusting,
Or the June bugs will come
To feast on tender buds.
The lilacs took five years to bloom.
And the daisy in my hand
Holds no answer.
Can the butterfly
Whisper my praise to God?

Earthquake

It will take ten years
To rebuild after the damage
Of a few minutes,
The newsman said.

That sounds about right
From what I know of shake-ups.
My world was rocked
I was shaken to the core
And all hope spilled out
Like debris on the sidewalk
Of my life.
The structure
That had once seemed so safe
So secure
Wasn’t.

And I’m still rebuilding
Using the debris to mend fences
Or build new ones.
(I’m not sure which.)
Sometimes it’s just easier
To throw a tarp over the emotion
Like a gaping hole
While I wait for another aftershock.

I suppose I should
Gather my few belongings
And move back in.
I just don’t know if I can trust
Another dwelling made by man.

I can see
The foundation is still there.
We’ll rebuild from the inside out.
It may be the only way to restoration.