Lemonade

A bag of lemons, dumped
Unceremoniously
In your lap.

A lesser man would have despaired.
Raged, perhaps.
And yet, you laughed.

Even while we stood watching,
Mouths agape, silently cursing,
You laughed.

We wondered at your courage,
What reason you had,
And then you spoke.

You pointed, and finally
We understood.
We saw what you saw.

There, beyond where
The rest of us focused
Stood a bag of sugar.

You didn't see lemons,
You saw ingredients.
You saw people.

Life gave you lemons,
You served us lemonade.
You served life lemonade.

Three feet of ice and cold

Three feet of ice won't form

In one night's autumn chill,
But builds through all December's cruel freeze.

Three feet of snow won't thaw

In winter's fleeting day,
But melts away in April's gentle breeze.

Three feet of snow won’t fall

In flurries light and sparse,
But gathers over storm and crippling storm.

Three feet of ice won’t break

In moonlight pale and wan,
But cracks apart in sunlight soft and warm.

It was comfortable

It made a Box and It sat in it.
It was comfortable—for a little bit.
But then It grew.

The Box became too small.
It was suffocating.

It cried for help. Silently.

As if afraid to be heard.

Yet still hoping. Daring.

Daring to hope.

But Something did hear It.

Something tore. It scratched.

The Box was no more.

Something and It smiled at the Not-Box.

They looked up.

They smiled some more.

But It looked back at the Not-Box.

More and more It looked.

Then the Not-Box became.

It made a Not-Box and It sat in it.

It was comfortable—for a little bit.

But then It remembered Something. It cries.

Libra

Upon this scale my life is weighed:
A scale on which my deeds are laid,
A scale to which there’s no compare,
A scale to which my heart is near,
But ever leaving me dismayed.

Often I find myself afraid
To stand on it, and feel betrayed
By judgment given, so unfair,
Upon this scale.

From bad to worse the needle swayed,
Each reading glaringly displayed,
Never accounting all’s that fair,
But taking note each time I err,
And still I stand each day, unswayed
Upon this scale.

A House Divided Cannot Stand

A house divided cannot stand,
It crumbles, shattered from within;
A house is torn by inner hand.

Wise are the ones who understand
The good old adage which has been:
A house divided cannot stand.

And if there be grave reprimand
From those of nearest kin, it's then
A house is torn by inner hand.

From history we learned firsthand,
And from the past we've duly seen
A house divided cannot stand.

When spars and quarrels take command,
When sanity is wearing thin,
A house is torn by inner hand.

A fragile mind cannot withstand
Both thought of good and urge to sin;
A house divided cannot stand,
A house is torn by inner hand.

5 November 2011

Erosion

A gentle tide crashes the jagged shore,
Smoothing out edges left by tempests past,
Yet carving out anew—along the vast
Complex coast—jagged faces, more and more.
The waves work with a deadly silent roar...
From the surface rocks protrude and cast
An evil shadow, exposing at last
A demon deep within a hardened core.

Feast, waters, feast! upon this stony land,
'Til all the ground is but fine grains of sand,
Then carry thou this devil's work to sea,
To lands beyond that which mine eyes can see;
And as old landscapes slowly fade away,
May new ones build with every passing day.

29 October 2011

Contronym

Your name misleads.
You are not what you are called.
Man fell as you entered his being.
Many men continue to fall today
On account of possessing you––
Or rather, on account of you possessing them.

You show them something,
And they must have "it"––
More and more of "it."
Never satisfied, they seek endlessly
For "it," as you look on,
Nodding your approval.

You are strong and enduring.
You have persuaded us
Of your invincibility.
Despairingly, we hold to this belief.
You are powerful, but your name
Is Weakness.

27 September 2011

Untitled

The yellow wallpaper drives me insane

The sun beats down
The paint peels
The wallpaper fades
And yet it drives me insane

The wind whips up
The paint flies
The wallpaper fades
Even so it drives me insane

The rain drives through
The paint runs
The wallpaper fades
But still it drives me insane

The blank wallpaper drives me insane

The painters arrive
They work
They go

The blue wallpaper drives me insane...

18 September 2011

Distraction

The Past returns: it rears its heads at me––
A joyous moment flashes by to taunt,
A thousand failures follow through to haunt;
A sheepish grin with great ferocity.
I see it fade and morph with Destiny––
O! visions grand, a happy mental jaunt;
Then nightmares, grander still, my psyche daunt,
No effort made to hide hostility.

Distractions all! I start, senses returned,
Old Father Time still faithfully walks on,
Not changing course, nor speed, nor looking back––
Was her fate not grave when her eyes she turned?
Begone, both Past and Destiny! Alone
I'll follow Father Time's slow, steady track.

15 September 2011

Making amends

Raindrops fall to earth and gather,
Free to flow but pooled together.
One night a hard freeze grips the town,
And London Bridge is falling down.

17 April 2011

Picking up the pieces

There it lies––shattered, broken,
Like some nebulous fragile glass form.
“I didn’t do it,” you exclaim,
“It was him!” “It was her!”
“It was that pesky thing from across the street!”

Ah, yes. Let the irrational finger pointing begin.
Of course; I believe you.
Just that I was there, watching you.
Just that I was what you did.
But you adamantly deny it.

What can I say?
After all, I am only the dust
Remaining from a tree, cut down,
Only shards and fragments on the floor,
Waiting for the dustpan and the brush.

But who are you? Do I know you?
I look harder, and then it dawns on me.
You were me. Or, rather, I was you;
And my soul, your soul…
There it lies––shattered, broken.

6 April 2011

Night Falls

The sun descends into the ocean’s wrath,
And on my listless soul a darkness falls,
But nary a star will shine upon my path,
Though wearily I gaze on heaven’s halls.

Blindly I stumble, groping for my way,
I call for help, but there is no reply.
The night drags on, contented to delay
The morrow morn, and pleasèd to deny.

Were I to summon all of mine own pow’r,
Still I would fail to overcome the night;
So I must wait for the appointed hour,
And trust, in time, that all will be made right.

Behold––the morning star breaks night’s dark guise;
The sun will once again, triumphant, rise!

21 March 2011

Forgiven

I put my soul upon a cloth,
And up rose crimson stains.
I gave it to my Lord to wash,
And take away the pains.

He washed it out the best He could,
He rinsed it through and through.
Still, when He handed back to me
My cloth––red residue!

I said, "My Lord, why is this so?"
He wisely then replied,
"My child, it is because 'til now,
My grace you have denied."

And so the sun shines through again,
The clouds lift up their veil,
As I accept this gift of grace,
And find my holy grail.

24 January 2011

Adrift

My mind runs wildly to and fro,
My thoughts take no apparent flow,
I've lost my way, I do not know
In which direction should I go.

My heart is here, my heart is there,
My soul floats aimlessly somewhere,
If God is here, then tell me where,
I cannot find Him anywhere.

Am I the one who's back is turned, who's eyes and ears are closed? Am I the one running away? Am I the one who's put so many distractions and barriers in between, and put so many things ahead of God? In all the years of Sunday School and sermons and whatnot, the probable answer is yes, because God's never the one who does the ditching. However, that's just knowledge, and knowledge of a spiritual matter is only the tip of the iceberg.

At some times, the feeling of connection to God is fairly strong. At others, it's so weak I might as well be a non-Christian. Sometimes, the lack of Spirit that I display alarms me. Am I actually saved? Follow that with a burst, and injection of God, and then it's back to apathy. An unending, and fairly vicious, cycle.

Worship, fellowship, and service are almost routine-like now. Do I even go with the right motives in mind? Do I even HAVE motives? I probably spend less and less quality time with God, trying to get more time for myself, but the irony of it is that I'd probably have more time for myself if I spend more time with Him.

These are pretty jumbled thoughts and it's taken me a while to sift through them all. Among the thoughts that plague me, the biggest is probably "where do I go from here?" So God is a sovereign God. He has His plans. Where am I in them? I'd like to know!

Chances are, I probably won't get to know, so where do I find my faith? How do I REALLY learn to love God again, with that childlike innocence, with that initial passion? God, I want that searching heart back. I don't actually have it. Those spiritual moments of late, they have been so fleeting, so temporary. It's just enough to keep me from giving up. But I don't want to just hang on by a thread. I want to stand on the Rock.

For now, I remain adrift, waiting for the wind to come, and blow me in the right direction, back to the shore, because I'm powerless without God.

"Wait for the LORD;
be strong and take heart
and wait for the LORD." ~ Psalm 27:14

So must I wait, so shall I wait.

Trickling Past

The sand within the hourglass trickles, grain
By grain, and Time slips softly, wearily by,
And yet I hear majestic Wisdom cry
Out: tempus fugit! Time and time again
She's proven right that oft uttered refrain.
Time creeps silently on as, slowly, I
Slip into the past. He doth not wait - that sly
Devil moves, impossible to regain.

But that I would be able to resist
That power which draws me into futile thought!
'Tis not the past that I can alter, nay,
But the present! Allow me to desist
That sinister practice, which can help me naught,
And turn my mind toward the coming day.

The sky is falling!

What Chicken Little so famously uttered was almost reality this week.

The lack of a landfalling typhoon does not mean the lack of inclement weather affecting Hong Kong. Really, this past week has been extraordinary. The black rainstorm signal was issued again today. That makes for twice in a week. And "black rain" is supposed to be less common than typhoon signal 8 (equivalent to a tropical storm warning). Also, there were a total of 5 reported waterspouts over this same week. So all in all, some pretty crazy stuff from the skies.

Anyways, it's the middle of the second week of work now, and it's definitely less "nice and fresh" than at the beginning. Still, I guess it's better than just sitting at home and rotting every day...now that I am no longer a child. Although there are still many many things that make a part of me wish for another shot at childhood. Oh well...there's no take 2 in life. Hah, if only I'd managed to tell myself that before. I need poetic release.


Hell, If Only I'd Managed to Think of That Earlier

Such is life. Sometimes you only see things
after the fact. With the benefit of .thgisdnih
Or maybe I was just nearsighted. Maybe I just lacked

foresight.

Whatever happened, it was too -- l...a...t...e...

Life goes on
But only for a certain amou//_____ it can be cut short, at any time
nt of time. ____________________ we never know.

If only I could have thought.
If only I could have known.
If only I could have seen.
If only I could have done things right the first time.

Upon reflection, I wish to revisit.
And still life goes on.
You can try to fxi ifx fix it,
But still life goes on; it won't wait,
Because fixing won't erase anything,
It will just scratch out the past,
And the rebuilding will take up more time.

It remains possible --
sometime in the future --
It remains possible.

I hope.

Let the skies fall! Let the earth gape!

Still I hope.
I dare to.
I hope.