The Feeling

     Time for another poem, I guess. From last year. Probably like November, not exactly sure though.  I'm not really going to explain why I wrote this poem, but yes, it was my feeling at the time. And that's what it is called. The Feeling.

The Feeling

I wish I wouldn’t lie to myself ever again,

And that the way that I feel, didn’t feel like a sin.

The hurt I feel inside,

This feeling’s made me cry.

I don’t know if it is wrong.

Why does this take so long?

Will this feeling ever fade?

That it will remain makes me afraid.

I say that none of it bothers me,

But it doesn’t take a lot to see

That when I tell myself it’s fine,

That alone is the lie.

Streamside Twilight

     The stream continued to rush by the same as ever, unaffected by the darkening sky, the only difference as the night drew closer being perhaps the seeming elevation in noise from the water because of the silence of the evening.  The small amount of light that remained glinted on the water’s surface and you could see little ripples being pushed toward the edge, despite the main current carrying the water downstream toward the little waterfall, which was really nothing more than a very slight incline in the rocks that the stream ran across.  There was small rock jutting out of the water partway down the incline, causing the water to spray into the air a few inches as it was pressed into the obstruction by the fairly swift current, giving the appearance of a miniature fountain in the midst of the stream.  The light continued to fade, but it was difficult to notice when completely absorbed in the stream itself.  But upon drawing one’s eyes from its darkened yet still shining surface, it was obvious that the world was growing ever darker, something that would be depressing except for the fact that it was too beautiful to sadden and there is always the hope of light the next day.

Discouragement by the Deception of Description

     Sometimes I have this great desire to write – to describe something beautiful that I wish to remember.  But when I think about it, I get discouraged and choose to look at it only rather than trying to put it into words, for I feel inside me that no words I could ever use would do what I am seeing justice.  Its beauty is beyond words.  How can you write about a sunset or a sunrise and expect it to be accurate?  You could use the best words in your description and it would still not sound as beautiful as it really is.  Why write about something when my words would not truly describe what I wish them to, and when they would instead deceive people, leading them to believe that its beauty was at a certain level, when really it is far above?

The Evening

     Wind blew gently through the grass, causing the blades to wave back and forth – an endless sea of green in constant motion.  Although the wind was not strong, it managed still to move ever so softly through the low-hanging evergreen branches, making it appear as though they had minds of their own – as though they were long, green fingers reaching down to the earth.  The wind would grow slightly stronger ever so often, and as it did, the speed in which those green branches moved would increase, as would how quickly the tiny blades of grass moved.  And that was when you could hear it.  You could hear the sound of the wind.  It was a soft sound, a sound which is hard to describe.  It was calming, yet exhilarating.  It could make you feel relaxed, and yet excited by the wonder of it at the same time.

     The sky was not its typical blue, but instead it appeared to be a white or a light gray, and was still just as beautiful.  Clouds floated by quickly in the air overhead, but seemed to hold no threat of a storm.  The wind picked up once more, bringing with it a bit of a chill as the temperature decreased with the progression of the evening.

     There were many crickets there.  Though they remained hidden from sight, it was easy to hear them in the relative silence, as they all joined together to create their unique song.  The smell of the grass was strong and sweet if you were close enough to it.  It possessed such a beautiful smell.

     You can still hear the wind.  You can feel it on your skin and blowing through your hair.  You can hear the crickets.  You can see the grass waving in the breeze and the branches doing the same.  And now I will leave you to imagine it for yourself…

That Which is Inside

     Sometimes I'm not sure why I write what I write...sometimes what I write is rather morbid. This is about holding onto secrets, I supppose.  Secrets that tear us apart from the inside out when we refuse to let them cease being secrets and tell someone; when we refuse to trust anyone with our hurt or guilt or whatever it may be that plagues us.

     Have you ever felt as though there are things that you  can't tell anyone?  And it builds up inside, trying to get out, screaming as loud as it can while you hold your tongue.  It's desperate to get out; you want the comfort of knowing that someone else knows.  But you say nothing and you feel as though it might kill you.  What is inside tries to.  It's desperate to kill you with the knowledge you possess, or at the very least torture you until you open your mouth at last.  Your tongue is bloodied from your teeth sinking into it one too many times, trying to prevent what's inside screaming from turning into your voice screaming out the same words.  The emotions you feel spill out regardless, but they are unexplained as you refuse to tell anyone still.
     The secrets are there.  They are so present and with such great potency that they hurt.  Relief would come in the telling.  But what would come when you received a reaction?  What would anyone's response be to what you hold inside?  Surely none could understand.  Surely they will judge you.  It is not the telling we fear, but what comes after it.  For too many times, people do not understand what it is that we have told them.  Or they don't understand its importance to us and treat it trivially.  Is that just a chance we have to take?  Is it worth it to be rid of the torment within?  Will it rid us of the torment within?
     Our hearts may not last if we hold it much longer.  They threaten to break at the silence.  But there is only silence on the outside.  On the inside are tormented screams.  And if we stay silent much longer, either the screams will come from our mouths as well as our hearts, and the whole world may know what torments us, or the screams will fade to soft whispers that we ignore as our hearts turn to stone and we embrace the distrust of all and the love of no one.

Love Perfected

     For lack of anything better to post, I'm going to put on another poem I wrote a while ago!  Because I don't want to just stop writing anything on here, like I did before. At least this is something.
     I wrote this one, again, in November, 2010. I called it Love Perfected because of the theme throughout of God's perfect love, and how hard it is sometimes to realize that His really is a perfect love. Love in our world is so imperfect, often broken, untrue. But God took what we fail at and perfected it.  He perfected love.

Love Perfected

When my world falls apart,
Yours holds together.
Your world is not my world -
They are different from each other.
In my world I am alone,
Away from You.
In Yours is only love,
And You want me there too.

You want us to unite,
But instead I choose to fight.
Because the love You offer confuses me.
How could I be loved so perfectly?

There is no perfect love,
But Yours seems so close to that.
You died so I could live -
I can't understand that.
This is perfect love.
It's found in You alone - You are the only way.
And although I've chosen life,
It seems I die every day.

If only I would trust You.
But I don't truly trust You.
I know it's my decision,
But I fear I face collision.

I know I cannot truly see
All Your love has done for me.
This perfect love, how could it be
That you would pour it out on me?
I proclaim to follow You,
I'm not embarrassed of Your truth.
And yet somehow it seems so unreal.
Oh, God, teach me how to feel!

I only hold pieces of my life,
The rest I give to You.
I hold these pieces back,
But I know You want them too.
Why won't I give them up,
And let go of this control?
Because I have been hurt,
But You could make me whole.

I must die to my life,
Live only through Your life.
I want to learn to trust You.
I want to give it all to You.

Teach me how to give.
Teach me how to live.
Teach me how to die.
Make me whole inside.

Starting College

     So I'm going to start college this fall.  I started last year, but I only went half time, taking only a few classes each semester.  This year I start FOR REAL. Full time. Living on campus. I don't even know yet who my roommate will be, or if I'll even have one. I'm excited of course, and I made a few friends last year, and I will be so happy to see them.  But this is going to be one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life, I think. It wasn't going to be so bad, because my brother was going to be there, and he is one of the best friends I could ever have. But now he has decided to transfer and he and I will no longer be attending the same school.  He'll be living on campus at another school, so we may not even see each other much. Also, a few of my other friends have left as well, and I didn't exactly have that many friends up there to begin with, partly because I didn't live there last year like everyone else did, and partly because of how shy I am.  And of the friends I do have, I'm not even sure if some of them will talk to me (there are a few who I know will, and I'm eternally grateful to them).  So I'm kind of scared, I guess you could say. I know that I stayed with friends a lot last year, so I'm used to staying at school, but it will be weird to not have a certain time that I know, "I'm going home such and such day," because that will kind of be home then.
     I'm going to miss my family once I'm there. I was homeschooled. I'm not used to being away from my family for a long time. I'm sure I'll get used to it eventually, but it will be weird at first.  I'm going to miss my friends.  I wouldn't see them quite as much anyway, even if I wasn't going off to college, just because they would be in school and all, but last year, I still saw my friends at church and such, or wherever I knew them from. Most of my friends live where I live, or close by. I'm not going to have a car on campus, I don't even know if I'll have my license by then, so I can't just drive and go see people. I'm just going to be stuck there.
     And then there is the fact that my parents want to move, sometime in November, I think. I've lived in the same house for sixteen years - for as long as I can remember. It will be strange to live somewhere else. I have to have all of my stuff packed before I leave for school in 24 days, rather than just the stuff I'm taking to college with me. When I come back for Christmas break, after the first semester, I'll move back into a new house. And again, I will miss my friends. I don't know for sure how far my parents are moving, but we won't be in the same city and I'm going to miss everyone so much.
     And I'll be taking five classes this fall, rather than two or three at a time. I think I'll do okay, but it will be different from last year, and very different from the years before that during which I was homeschooled. So I'm a little worried about the academic side of things.
     So, I don't really know what my point in all this was. I think it was mostly to get it off my chest. To tell someone without having to actually say all of that to someone in real life. I'm really nervous about school, and I keep praying that everything will work out alright. I guess it usually does. Somehow. So hopefully it will this time.