Who knew that a sound
Could be so loud as to echo into eternity?
It was the sound accompanying the event
That sent ripples through time – forward and backward.
An event beyond the confines of time and space,
Its echoes preceding it – promising its sure occurrence.
Echoes forcefully sustained by a universe unwilling to forget.
Metaphors
What Is Man?
I am not unlike the words of a spoken-word artiste;
I am a work of art, and not a simple one at that…
But what I truly am, I cannot confidently guess.
I am what I cannot completely define;
The product of a Master beyond constraints;
A thought from a creative Mind without confines
And birthed in Love from Hands perfect for every work.
I am His breath trapped in a mould;
A divine spark merged with an earthen work of art
In a mystery beyond unravelling though born in Light.
A Song of Promise
There’s a song furnished in my heart this dawn;
It is a song of pain and tragedy;
It is a song of unfailing and faithful love;
It is a song both marred and perfected
In my lack of complete understanding and full appreciation.
It is an old song, but seems new every morning;
It carries the weight of hope and is full of promises and possibilities.
It promises such great things and calls for me to be bold and courageous;
It calls for me to step out in faith and complete trust.
Sound Of Victory
It begins in the depths;
Sounds like a struggle at first, then it breaks free…
It is a little spring with the force of a mighty volcano;
It is a sound with a single note,
Communicating a singular message – Victory!
It begins at the sight of the finish line;
With each additional step it soars in might,
Bolstered on by the sound of the rushing winds
Till it gloriously erupts at the breaking of the tape.
Gratitude, Always
It’s a minute to midnight,
I’m watching the clock tick-tock its way to a new dawn;
Trying to capture the exact moment of the transition;
This wouldn’t be my first attempt,
Though each time I’d managed to miss the tangibility
Of that sharp dividing line separating old from new.
Sometimes I wish everything would come to a standstill –
A moment of silence to acknowledge the passing of a season.
Sometimes I wish there would be a tremor
Through the fabric of existence,
To signal the birth of a new cycle.
Find Me On My Knees
Find me on my knees,
Kneeling on my doubts and distresses;
Hands clasped, holding tight my faith;
Eyes closed firmly, that I may not be moved by sight;
My words are incoherent, rightly depicting the state of my mind;
My mouth seems too slow, not fast enough to articulate the flow –
The gushing of thoughts and emotions from my mind backed up behind my throat,
My tongue feels tired, but there’s a will
That seeks to push until something happens…
Giving no rest to self or God;-
The mystery that keeps mighty men on their feet in battle,
And keeps the sword of the warrior stuck to his hands
Even when his arms are wearied beyond remedy;
And keeps him facing a thousand as they descend on him
Breathing destruction and slaughter….
A small portion of the mystery, that brought a Man
To the carrying of the burdens of the whole world.
Hagia Sophia
On rocky shores I pitched my tent
She stayed the waves, she clasped the earth
Vicars were made of men, faint but helped
Light abounds in this mystic cove
Life and dignity fill my pews
My Holy Orders were regal
And Hades’ gates could not prevail.
Continue reading
Soul Song
Sing me a song that sounds like the cry of my soul.
I don’t have the voice or the skill,
But I’ll like to hear my soul’s song outside the confines of my being;
So please, If you can, sing me that song, that keeps stirring me up.
I don’t want to be the only one with these goosebumps,
Or the euphoria and the resonating sympathies of these chords.
Continue reading
Welcome
Take me to the Place where the saints gather,
To the convention of the just made perfect;
Where the clouds of glory settle and tongues of fire dance;
To the atmosphere so pure that I come undone to be refined.
It is where David dances and Solomon sits to be taught;
A place whose gates Sampson’s strength does not qualify him to guard.
Continue reading
Relapse
When the past, long thought dead, suddenly becomes the present…
Of course, it’s usually the unwanted past that creeps up – go figure…
So sly, playing possum, waiting for that atmosphere – the crack in the psyche.
For it knows, that with the pressures of life come cracks and fractures;
And oftentimes the more rigid the structures, the deeper the damage,
The louder the snaps, and the more forceful the bursts.
Continue reading
Makafui's Journal 