a spider + ant || a poem

a spider + ant || a poem

a spider + ant are nigh the same thing:

segmented bodies + spry, nimble feet,

unnoticed, unseen, no beauty to boast

yet bold to live freely from forest to coast.

a spider weaves tapestries; fine silk she spun

while ants build a castle in growing, dry mud.

+ one drinks the blood of foes she demised

while ants humbly gather a lost picnic prize.

we trod on their homes + tear down their wall;

the ant + the spider constantly fall.

like high-ranking kings + poor peasant folk

who boast of their glory or handle revoke;

like fog in the night may linger a breath

+ vapor ascend, then die a quick death,

the ant + the spider could boast of their feats

then wither to die in summer sun's heat.

so rather, the two have beauty to show:

their humble + quiet service alone.

to daily fulfill the task set before:

the call of the faithful, king or the poor.

Trust in Him at all times, you people;
Pour out your heart before Him;
God is a refuge for us. Selah

Surely men of low degree are a vapor,
Men of high degree are a lie;
If they are weighed on the scales,
They are altogether lighter than vapor...

Power belongs to God.
Also to You, O Lord, belongs mercy;
For You render to each one according to his work.

snippets of Psalm 62

~♥~

 

expectantly || a poem

expectantly || a poem

funnily, last year i learned to love running:

beginning with muscles stretching, heart pounding in anticipation,

then taking off with adrenaline speed

to settle into rhythmic breathing + focused motion.

yet a race is a battling fight

for weakness pulls at me to slow,

+ i hear lies—like every passing tree—

pulsing in my gasping breaths + flushed face;

i resist with feet planting firmly + eyes set:

every pain pushes me closer to the Prize

so i fight on.

winter settles to ice the air in frost,

+ i fight daily,

yet only grow weaker.

i learn in the everyday

strength isn't in pushing harder, like a race,

it's in the Strength Giver.

when i spring up a hill, i whisper:

this is what He trained me for

yet when the run is over, i maybe train hardest

by waiting on the Lord, eyes set

on Him, my utter Prize,

waiting for His springtime.

He fights as i follow in submission.

Jesus is the body; i am the feet simply obeying,

+ He never grows weary or slumbers,

so with His Spirit in me, why should i walk in defeat?

is there victory in g r a c e ?

i run hard in races + will to be the feet of Jesus in today,

to achieve the ultimate Prize.

not because of my strength

(which, if i boasted in, would fall flat in the first competition)

but because of His,

                                expectantly.

And He said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness." Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in needs, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ's sake. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

For though (Jesus) was crucified in weakness, yet He lives by the power of God. For we also are weak in Him, but we shall live with Him by the power of God toward you. 

2 Corinthians 12:9-10, 13:4

Have you not known?
Have you not heard?
The everlasting God, the LORD,
Neither faints nor is weary.
His understanding is unsearchable.
He gives power to the weak,
And to those who have no might He increases strength...
But those who wait on the LORD
Shall renew their strength.
They shall mount up with wings like eagles,
They shall run and not be weary,
They shall walk and not faint.

Isaiah 40:28-29, 31 

~♥~

what beauty || a poem

what beauty || a poem

i heard that light only has definition

in the face of darkness,

+ i wondered if beauty too

was only beautiful in the presence of distortion.

for i hold the dying hand of a flower kissed by frost's poison--

+ the loveliness wilts in the curse's winter,

melts like ice.

but it's not the death that makes life--

life was the first,

the lovely before mar,

+ though darkness was in the beginning,

the Spirit of God was hovering,

the God who made l i g h t;

life, beauty, light formed in the fingerprints of Almighty Beauty.

all nobility is defined by the Day

the Maker made something good,

+ all today that looks like Him or His work,

that is beautiful:

the healing in dirty, mechanic hands

a waterfall thundering like heaven

fellowship unbroken,

what true beauty!

defying any serpent's attempts

to turn good into evil,

the Almighty will crush his head,

so we praise

+ become full-time beauty seekers

in a faulty world.

even the Deaf sign beauty before their face,

+ i wonder if it's the glory of a soul created

or the unsurpassed wonder of the Beauty Maker Himself.

Yes, in the way of Your judgements,

O LORD, we have waited for You;

The desire of our soul is for Your name
And for the remembrance of You.

- Isaiah 26:8

 

~♥~