Friday, March 20, 2015

A Storm Called Liberation - Letters to Myself

This isn't really a poem, but I don't know what else to call it. Musings? Yes, musings will do.
It's just what happens when you know you need to write /something/ but you aren't sure whether to pen a song, or a poem by itself. This will probably end up evolving into a song though nonetheless.
I will admit that these past two weeks have been among the hardest in my life. I was given counsel by a very dear friend who is like a second-mother to me, to "write letters to myself" when I am feeling more spiritually and emotionally stable, for those times in which I'm struggling. So I'm going to give it a go. Here's the first letter.
"A Storm Called Liberation" 
Fallen, my blood seeps into the ground.
Blinded, my mind hijacked and confounded.
I tried to destroy my own soul, I listened to my own lies.
Bound in a tangle of darkness, my throat raw from the screams and cries.
Resurrected, my wounds cleansed and purified by the Creator.
Eyes wide open; I take hold of the clarity and power He bestows.
Snapped me out of my delusions, cut the ties that held me trapped and lost.

Keep telling yourself a lie, and soon it becomes the truth.
God is not the author of confusion, He gives us direction on what to do.
Throw off the ropes, shred the lies like paper and toss them to the wind.
Your feet weren’t meant to be stagnant, and your mind wasn’t made to sleep.
Pick your body off the floor, plant your feet firm and grit your teeth.
In Him, you will overcome, you will survive, and you will find peace.
There’s a reason for this tempest, and this hurricane is only one of many.
The torrent of emotions is only a season, and you’re strong enough, you won’t drown.
You’re in a refining fire and in the end you will be like silver, if you fully seek the Lord.
This tribulation will free you, brace yourself and stand your ground.
Freedom isn’t a gentle thing, liberation takes you by storm.
So throw your chains away; allow the flood to envelop your soul.
You will bleed, you will plead for the end to come.
The darkness of night only points to our need for the sun.
I see clouds on the horizon, but I am thankful for the storms.
Lighting illuminates the heavens; thunder rolls like an orchestral score.  
Focus on the prize ahead, think to the years of the future, when,
Tried by the fire, having weathered the turbulence, having done all to stand,
Your skin will be thicker, your mind wiser, and your feet closer to the Promised Land. 

1 comment:

  1. I hope your week is getting better, and whatever you were going through is also!!! Love your poem :)