This Season Doesn’t Come Every Year (A Poem)

This season doesn’t come every year

but it comes at the same time of the year

when it comes, and I know where it comes from

this fire that flares up in the midst of me.

Exhilarating, exhausting, hurtful

blessing, when I am the walking maelstrom

amongst the mostly oblivious, but

some can tell and sorrow, no–don’t sorrow.

Don’t sorrow, this tempest doesn’t own me,

only understand all my sensations

aren’t tethered to it out of season and

this season doesn’t come every year.

Hebrews 6:19 “Which hope we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and stedfast…”

Is She Worth A Poem? (A poem)

Is she worth a poem?

Either I have enough love or she has enough

hatred, but lukewarm or apathy doesn’t make

for a good recipe, but it looks like it’s too

late so now the only question is “the degree?”

Better yet, I’ll just write it and in the end you

tell me.

It began with me liking the sound of her voice

Intelligent gentleness best describes the thing

that didn’t often ring because she didn’t want

anyone to know her outside of anyone

who already knew her and it wasn’t just me

it was all of society. When I am left

with a mystery, I fill in the history

and it must have been uncomfortable that I

looked at her like I knew her better than anyone

else in the world. And the hurt when she so often

pulled away, and my reaction “Don’t you know me!”

Well, not out loud, that would have confused her even

more, but in my head we were planning on going

to a play sometime next month, after all when you

actually know each other…there’s plans of some sort.