Love, Sara Sophia

meanwhile.

photo credit

they grow and I’m not even watering them.
my camera lies still in the corner crying for the moments uncaptured.

today she came in with a single blueberry, just for me

I was wandering the sad desert/
didn’t even take it from her hand.

I couldn’t move;
couldn’t turn from watering my soul with tears
and the moment was gone.

all the things I’m missing.

all the things.

they break me most of all.

tomorrow I’ll wake up.
I’ll eat all the blueberries.
I’ll take all the pictures.

I’ll stop time where the beauty is and pretend there wasn’t any pain.

love is the voice under all silences, the hope which has no opposite in fear
-e.e. cummings

May 22, 2012 · Comments { 6 } · Babies, Faith, Poetry

sometimes the only comfort is the poem.

i’ve opened my eyes to bats sailing into moon-circles.
i’ve opened my hands to hold a promise i thought was long lost.
i’ve opened my mind to the thunderbolt of God’s Voice.
i am opening as a cup to be filled.

i am opening to the broken.
i am bathing in a sea of tears.
i am finding Holy in this dark place.
i am hands lifted in the sorrow.
i am mountains moved and thirst prevailing and strength i didn’t know possible.
somehow.

somehow it will all be well.
we will all rise up and call these sharp edges our salvation.

i am opening each day like a tangerine.
i am sinking in truth and washing my heart in promise.
(and grace tastes like apples)

Hallelujah.

i am binding my hands lest they ever stop raising to You.
i am breaking over the edge of what i used to know and calling this home.
calling this place where the bitter end meets the hope of Heaven.

You will bring me all the way.
You will turn it all to light.
You never give up and neither will i.

there is a glory in the breaking.
(and isn’t there hope in the losing)

and isn’t there grace where we can’t see.

for surely there was love.