Redemption

I awake in a gasp,
my spirit shuddering.
A fear worse
than that of a thousand dark prison cells.
My very soul is trapped in the claws of hell.
I have sinned.
I felt no pain for it, no guilt.
But in the sea of dreams,
truth flows into our hearts.
And I saw a place worse than the realms of death.
But as my mind was dragged
from the depths of unconsciousness,
as I resurfaced and gasped,
thinking with all dread that I had drowned
and my soul was lost forever,
there you are.
A picture on my wall,
no bigger than a postcard.
There you are,
enshrouding my quaking heart
with your wings of love and mercy.
There you are,
my shepherd approaching in the distance,
to seek me, your lost sheep.
There you are,
my Lord, my Saviour,
the Redeemer of my soul.
There you are,
Jesus the Christ.

Thursday night, Edinburgh

Half past eleven,
in a glimmering Edinburgh street.
The snow scrapes my eyelashes,
I hear my echoing feet
and students hailing cabs,
the bassline a pulsing beat.
The heartbeat of the city,
its life support through the night.
It’s early yet.

Old men shouting ‘scuse me love!’
girls asking for a light.
For a second I wonder
whether they crave nicotine
or a guiding light out of hell.
I glance down dark alleys,
wonder what shadowy secrets they hold,
what sins they conceal.

Quick! No time for philosophy.
The ride home beckons.
Off back to reality…
Or am I leaving it?

Faith in the Dark

I do have faith I do!
I cry in the dark.
kneeling, pleading.
I search my soul.
I see the seed, I feel the spark of faith.
but the call of the world beckons,
pulses, beats, sings in my ears.
a siren.
to warn of danger? To urge me to flee?
or to lure me through murky waters,
onto treacherous rocks.
temptation;
I see it swirling behind my eyelids,
I feel it dancing on my skin.
I cry in the dark,
I cry in the dark.
I cry. In the dark.

Creativity

Pen to paper,
Pressure.
If only what I mean to say
could be expressed as perfectly
as the pressure from nib to page
mirrors the pressure to create something original.
I rack, I rack.
I write, I revise.
I revise, I write.
I revise what I write before it is written.
I can’t write.
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
Churning out the words of an old poet.
All has been said and done,
All that has been done has been said.
Yet we live on.

Alone

faces around,

faces and voices.

but not one for me.

 

constant intrusion,

constant commotion, confusion.

constant seclusion.

 

busy world, empty world.

 

voices around,

voices and faces.

yet never one, no never one,

for me.

Awakening

My voice lay slumbering,

My voice lay sleeping.

In a dormant coma,

In a deep languor.

For years unspoken,

For years unwritten.

But now it stirs.

A buried spark ignites,

Its flames gather, and hurtle to the surface.

My voice has awakened,

And is ready to be heard.