All good deeds (including prayer),
Are sewn into the fabric of Love.
No good deed gets left on the spool,
Unsewn, (unknown).
Love could never deny Itself,
But only use the thread,
Which is of the same fabric,
For Absolute Good.
Sewing, sewing peacefully,
And ceaselessly into the night;
Creating a blanket of warmth,
For a world, otherwise at risk,
For hypothermia of the soul.
This poem is dedicated to all moms, especially my mom,
who works tirelessly for love.
Words rolling around your head,
Left unwritten,
Left unsaid.
Pen to paper,
“Look! There’s the title!
Write, write, write,
Keep writing….Stop,
Now breath!”
“Post, publish, share.”
An original, newborn poem,
“How sweet!”
Tripping over my own tongue,
As hurtful words spill forth…
Caught tenderly,
In the soft pocket,
Of your forgiveness.
The conscious spiritual,
Healing path,
Can be described in 2 words,
Pure magic.
It’s really God’s grace,
Leading us, in time,
To heaven’s gate; a metaphor for,
That spontaneous and natural,
Defining moment,
When we drop our luggage or baggage,
At the door,
Allowing only love to enter.
Our heart, now as wide as the universe itself,
Becomes our heaven.
A certain degree of,
agony and pain,
may prompt someone to rise up,
quite quickly;
like a broken spring,
in their favorite easy chair.
Stirred from slumber,
Just enough to call out,
God’s name,
And God, knowing them by name,
Lift’s them up, and says,
“Hey, I missed you,
So glad you’re here.
It matters not where,
You’ve been.”
Shattered by a crushing blow to heart,
body, or spirit,
The ego left for nearly dead.
A lucky few surrender and cry out to God,
Thereby allowing the miracle of grace,
To sweep swiftly through their broken places,
Reigniting their soul’s flame,
Calming and drawing them into,
A dark inner wilderness,
Replete with emotional dragons, demons, and ghosts,
The likes of which few would care to know, or dare to go.
Yet turning back now,
Is to play pretend.
The trusted companion, grace,
Alights young soul travelers,
With joy, love, gratitude, peace and forgiveness,
Giving them strength to go the mile,
Clearing and navigating,
The once hidden path of God’s Will.
Leading them down, out and all the way through,
To the (other), spiritually lighter side.
Young spirits freed,
Don their new wings.
Summer sits,
Fall waits,
Winter knows,
But Spring creates!
If you say you have no secrets,
Then those secrets are secrets,
You are keeping very well,
From yourself.
God enters into the depth of my human heart,
Laying bare the hidden fruit,
Of my good intentions,
Endless effort,
And raw, oft pained love,
Which lives there,
And He is well pleased.
In contrast,
The world simply stands outside the door,
Tallying my “results.”
I’m moved forward by desire,
But guilt holds me back.
Then love moves me forward,
And fear pulls me back.
Then hope steers me forward,
Yet doubt yanks me back.
Renewed confidence drives me forward once again,
But my limitations set me back.
Then as I begin to build my strength back up,
Shame slams me from behind,
And drags me down,
In a,”You don’t deserve success!” kinda dead lock.
Falling hard,
I’m out for the count,
Having only failed myself,
For choosing to stop trying.
Thankfully forgiveness picks me up,
Restores my faith,
And gets me back in the game.
gildaspoems 