Pinhole View: Prose 2

My heart cried out
to the forces that be.

"Where are you?
Can you hear me?
Do you exist?
Dare I believe?"

My heart craved,
yearning to find
its place
in this great big world
among this human race.

"Where do I fit?
Where do I belong?
So many choices...
What if I'm wrong?"

I tried to fit
so many places
among different groups
diverse faces.

Times of elation,
times of doubt.
Times of exuberance,
times of remorse.

"Where do I turn,
where do I stake
this life of mine?
Upon what course?"

For awhile I settled for mediocrity,
But my soul suffered emptily.
I searched, pondered through many books.

Philosophies, answers
in so many nooks.

Then I came full circle
back to Jesus Christ
and God's Word.

I found myself humbled,
small again.

Was I the wiser
for wandering?

Aye? Nay?
Of the answer
I am uncertain.

But humbled,
I am.

I trust my heart
will stay
honest
open
upon this new,
old course.


judithpiper
december, 2005
__________________

This poem is Prose 2 of 3. All three parts can be read here:
Pinhole View: A Trilogy

Prose 1 can be read alone here: Pinhole View: Prose 1
Prose 3 can be read alone here: Pinhole View: Prose 3

I wrote Prose 2 two months after leaving The Way, after spending months and months searching.

I ended up leaving The Way via a Way splinter group and, at the time, I felt I had found genuine fellowship again via that splinter group. The group and its teachings were beyond helpful at the time, and for that I will always be thankful.
__________________

You...

Again today I thought of
you

In my mind's eye I saw
you

Thumb outstretched
hitching
All the way 'cross this
USA
You were wearing jeans
blue
Lean physique, eyes of
brown

Youth. God. Dreams.
Cascades.
Sierras.
High. Upon. Peaks.

I smiled thinking of
you

I imagined long
conversations

My heart swelled
wishing
That life had worked
differently

But it didn't

I never before imagined
that
We would be here
now

Yet, here we are

I will always love
you

Field in Autumn

Field of dirt and mowed green grass
Wooden fence squares it round
Flowing creek trickles past
Begone times beneath this ground

Chilly airs brush my cheeks
Swaying poplars play a tune
Wind pushes leaves off their anchors
Golden snowflakes falling down

White pines tower bend and bow
Mirroring their cousin poplars
Needles whoosh quickly falling
Bed of brown upon the loam

Trees now skeletons for a season
Blood flows slowly almost halts
Leaves and needles feed the soil
Awaiting life 'til warm winds blow


november, 2013