Lost

     This is another poem I wrote, also in November of last year, I believe. Not everyone always understands what I wrote this poem to mean, but it is about someone who is lost at last finding a Savior in Jesus Christ, something about which I am passionate, and which is the theme of many of my poems and writings. For Jesus has saved my soul and one of my greatest desire is to bring others to Him, so that they will find what He has given to me.

Lost

This blinding light is killing me,

Take it away so no one can see

All those things that I regret,

Things if You saw, You’d never forget.

Invisible in darkness,

I appreciate this blindness.

But this light lets You see

Everything I’ve hid within me,

That’s invisible to all but me;

My guilt for this, it is my fee.

Why must I face it?

I can’t erase it.

The guilt inside tries to kill me;

Just destroy me.

It’s myself I despise,

For believing all their lies.

My heart is exposed to You,

But I realize now that You already knew

Of all the things I tried to hide,

That destroy me from the inside.

Maybe this light is saving me,

My eyes are opened, I’ve begun to see –

Though You knew all I’ve done, You loved me the same;

This light alone can take it away.

The Truth About Lies

     So I've decided to start posting some of the poems I've written in the past. I hadn't written any since I was probably fourteen, I think, and then in november of last year, I randomly wrote a poem. Not all of my poems are actually inspired by how I feel, but this was one that was. I named it "The Truth About Lies" and it's still one of my favorites that I have written...if having a favorite of something you have written yourself is allowed...


The Truth About Lies

The lies are easy to believe,
Because what they offer you want to receive.
But in the end they make you cry,
Because in the end a lie is a lie.

Finding the truth seems to kill,
But the truth is just the lie without all the frills
That cover the truth, disguising the lie,
Making it seem like it's worth you time.

You're tired of all those pleasing lies,
Those things they say, that you like but don't find.
Now you only want to know the truths,
And you find that they told you very few.

The truth may bring pain,
But search for it just the same.
Don't live for a lie,
It's not worth your life.

If you look for the truth, you always will find it.
Don't waste your time - you cannot rewind it.

The Inability to Write

     I wrote this awhile ago. I wrote it because I was desperate to write something, as I often am, and yet could think of nothing else to write, something that also happens to me quite often.  I don't always write in this style...probably only because it's just not always fitting, because I'd have to admit, it's my favorite way to write...

     There are few things that I actually hate, though I have many dislikes.  But there is one thing that I hate and despise more than almost anything else, with a burning passion from deep within my very soul, and that is the inability to write.  I loathe with every fiber of my being that moment in which I so desire to write and yet not a word comes to mind, or at least none worth saying, much less worth writing.
     So many times, I have in mind what I want to write, yet still the words do not come.  At times I am able to write other words, though not what I truly desire to write - but that is the lesser concern of the two circumstances having to do with this most hated situation in which I find myself far too often.  The worse of the two is when I do not even care what it is that I write, I merely feel I need to write something, this usually occurring when I am not in the best state of mind, and often need to write to quell the tears that either already fall from my eyes or at the very least threaten to at any moment, and to suppress the feelings of hurt or sorrow or anguish that consume my heart and mind.  And that most hated condition, that of the inability to write, enters my life once more and I have no way to let go my grief as I am unable to express myself.

The Confession

It's been a very long time since I posted anything. I'm not sure how good I am at this...But anyway. I spent about two hours last night, writing a poem. Someone asked me to post it here, and therefore I am. I'm really not sure what inspired me to write this, and when I began it, I wasn't even sure exactly what it would be about. But here it is...

The Confession

In the event that you should find me,

Read me carefully, read me slowly.

I am a letter of confession,

Of dire need and of depression.

There are secrets some would seek;

But I hold those none desire.

I contain tales of the weak

And of one who is a liar.

Though you’ll never know of whom I speak,

For the one who penned me remains unknown,

Read, and find that which you do not seek,

So in my knowledge I will not be alone.

On this paper, stained with tears,

And in this ink, filled with fears,

I bring you a tale of dark mystery

From not so ancient history.

It tells of a battle of a soul;

In itself it did fight.

Within its dark and empty hole,

The darkness fought the light.

The darkness within never ceased to fight,

And the light’s existence it forever denied.

This soul lived in blackness and self-obsession,

Convinced of satisfaction with its possession.

For the darkness possessed it

And its attention arrested.

It saw the light as a distraction

Away from true satisfaction.

But even with a life that seemed so perfect,

The soul was unsatisfied still

And after endless nights of torment,

It sought the light it had desired to kill.

The light claimed possession

Of a soul in dire need.

The darkness went into recession,

And the soul was finally freed.

Released from its possessor,

It not becomes this confessor.

For the darkness in which it formerly hid,

Of it this soul is now eternally rid.

And now this soul’s deepest confession:

When filled with darkness and depression,

The light it continuously fought,

When this soul to save was all it sought.