I recently came across an old poem, a long one, that I wrote back in 2008, that I believe is one of my most deeply felt…
It expresses a lot of what was going on inside of me at the time, including my struggle to find hope in the midst of many doubts and fears concerning my beliefs, namely about God and about myself…
I went ahead and typed it out so I could share it.
I made some minor revisions, though more to improve the flow of the poem rather than alter the original feel of it, and gave it a title, as it was originally untitled.
I hope that it resonates in some way with whoever may read it.
Here it is:
Words, sometimes, are
empty on the page,
in certain moods,
the drawn shades,
but sometimes, we see
ourselves in the words,
looking glass,
and the uncertainty, or shame,
or maybe just waiting by a window
or maybe hope,
hope that is alive…
I talk about the same things
over and over again,
and sometimes want so much
to write something new,
but I’m drawn back,
and back again,
to old stories,
to common tales,
in music,
and in memories…
What words are there in the beginning,
what words are there in the end,
and in what name is found our beginning,
and our end,
every beginning,
and every end?
And the earth turns and turns
in the pitch, silent cold,
and beautiful fires,
burning lands,
far away, out in the deep,
and that mystery found
in a quiet face,
stricken with pain…
Faith in the unseen,
hope laid on the ground,
love in the dark…
Oh what words can express
this world around,
this universe inside;
I can’t see myself
with all masks removed,
can’t see myself,
and who sees,
who knows,
with whom may I trust
my nakedness,
my aching heart,
my questioning eyes?
Found myself,
not so long ago,
in a lonely shell,
and more
than a little wonder,
and what words
can I find to say myself
to whomever may hear,
I cannot say myself,
I cannot,
I can only say and say
these words
to an audience
barely listening,
understanding…
Or no?
Is there anyone here with me?
To see, to hear,
to touch,
beyond the skin,
can I grasp someone there,
maybe a hand on my heart,
answering eyes,
seeing,
knowing,
forgiving,
loving?
And I’m aching…
By the shore
the Milky Way arose,
and I am young,
but my failures are old,
and my troubles too,
and all the people
tell old stories,
tell common tales,
in many songs we sing,
our memories of good and ill,
like the sands
on the shore by the sea…
And from a window,
the wind in the trees,
and above,
in the sky
a shooting star,
and on the earth
a boy,
waiting wild for the dawn…
And still I wait for dawn,
singing now
and then
and again,
psalms of hurt
and hope
and home;
though madness
and despair
come easy,
yet I am reaching,
fumbling,
trying to find the wall
in the troubling dark,
and find the way along…
But maybe I’m not alone?
Maybe not all fathers
are monsters in disguise,
maybe not all mothers
are the abandoning kind,
and sometimes the bad things
we think we see
aren’t true,
and sometimes the good things
we can’t see much at all
are
and let the man of facts
find his feelings
and let the man of feelings
find his facts
and let the children come,
let darkness,
let death,
be done,
and come peace
after the battle,
come sunrise
after a long night of rain,
for anger abides not,
bridges can be built,
and love never fails…
‘Please cover me,
because I am naked,
please hold me,
because I am scared…’
…I plead to the one that I fear,
to the one that I cannot control,
and oh how I long to be free,
though I do not know
what freedom means,
only that it matters much,
and that I long for it…
And the people they hear,
or read the words written down,
and perhaps care not,
or perhaps see themselves,
or find uncertainty,
or shame,
or looking out,
maybe hope…
But I cannot put my face
upon another,
I can only put my face,
my heart,
before another,
my words,
questions, cries,
waiting awkwardly for answer,
for a listening ear,
for an understanding,
waiting for truth that is freeing…
And at a window,
the barred bird waits to out,
and a boy who sometimes feels
so lost,
and so wrong,
sometimes afraid
of monsters,
and dark eternities,
holds on,
holds on,
to stories of faith and hope,
to words of life and love,
that tell,
that say,
at journey’s end there will be,
oh yes there will be,
the tender embrace,
the healing grace,
of a father’s arms…
Blessings to you and peace 
Matt
Matt - I’m feeling a bit melancholy tonight, I’ve just read your poem again. So much resonates. It’s beautiful - you express the half thought, half remembered feelings and hopes of us all. You keep writing my friend - and make a book of it someday please