I.

How stricken I am, my mind and my heart!
Even my innermost being feels ripped apart.

Really I know this cannot be,
Even a child could tell me this fact.
So why is it so real for me?
Covered in terror I make to flee:
Unconsciously, where my mind's somewhat intact,
Even deeper, I know, as truth flutters so distantly,
Dark, demonic death my pursuer has been and shall be.

Underneath it all I just want to lie down and sleep;
So desperate for death or for life, for something more than this limbo, I weep.

Fearsome forms surround me and fill my every thought.
Rancid smells and decay fill my mind's nostrils.
Oh the sandpaper on my bleeding heart, the rot,
My whole self the raging darkness fills.

This cannot be, this cannot be:
Hell rampant inside my soul and body.
Even a child would wave away the possibility.

Doom booms
Outside my window;
Maybe it's a curse the Enemy cast:
Anything seems death's shadow to assume
In how, by some strange ferocity, every thing brings me low.
No one, surely, could this siege outlast.

O the betrayal, O the darkness, O the anguish that I fear,
For such terror is not distant but demonically near.

Do I listen?
And rip my soul apart, piece by piece,
Reaching deep inside the heart, my fears to release?
Kind of like putting your hand in the cookie jar, this seems a sin
No worse than a small indistinguishable stain
Even though my mind cries out to refrain,
Soulfully, my heart sings out for the darkness to win.
Soulfully, someone celebrates that darkness will win.

II.

And yet...
No...
Darkness is not mine to carry...

III.

Truly, truly, I say to You:
Rather than live with darkness my only view
And injury my only feeling, my heart I send to You for sealing.
No longer must I be stealing
Satan's thoughts and “insights,”
For You tell me there is more to believe in than terrified nights.
Even the most scarlet can, by Christ's blood, be bleached white.
Ready, I am, for something new,
Ready to be broken for something of You:
Ever only stricken by the grief of You've had from the start,
Destined to hold Your Spirit ever in my heart.

Under the waves of sin, a stronger current stirs,
So deep within I hardly notice,

‘Til it rises with the tide to surface of the things that were,
Overwhelmingly victorious.

This current is Your love,
Held and lifted high.
Ever will it be my praise, and in the dark, my cry!

Kindness leads to repentance;
I find Your love leads me to belief.
No sin is unforgivable, by the cross You bore as Your grief,
God's wrath poured out on Innocence,
Does Christ over sinners weep?
Oh, most assuredly, over me,
My burden He bears and treats me so gently.

Oh what burden now I bear,
Fair weight of love, borne back to me as I release a prayer.

How darkness will be vanquished
In this love,
Surely even in my heart this darkness will be vanquished.

Beloved, beautiful, God above
Exquisitely adorns me with grace and love.
Lowly I am, lowly and meek,
Overwhelmed, heart in tatters, in faith so weak;
Very truly You say You love me,
Each small moment of healing grace, so lovely,
Does more for my soul than a lifetime of grief.

So I adore You, my Christ,
Oh Lord of truth, of grace, of all things bright:
No more do I belong to darkness, I've been delivered to Light.

You slip into the familiar seat,
You grab the clicker from next to the coffee
On the table covered with cup-stains;
You click “ON” to hear a familiar beat:
“Amber is the color of your energy...”
And click an arrow without waiting for the rest of the refrain.

The image switches to a wolf pack
Stalking some deer as daylight fades
With a British voice to narrate saying:
“They come out at night and sleep at daybreak...”
And that's all you hear of that, afraid
Any more of this junk and your mind will be fraying.

The next scene seems to be a replay,
Some golf that you remember from yesterday...
But then comes a ring for a delivery,
So you grab your cash, cuz pizza ain't free.
And by the time you come back, everything's changed,
That is, on the screen; nothing else is rearranged.

It's an ad for a show on a different channel:
The Peanuts Christmas episode plays Sunday night,
And as the video returns to the commentary panel,
You think, “'Twas just summer, these people aren't bright!”
You settle down again, cram some pizza in your mouth,
And push the button for “Next” while picking some dough off your tooth.

“Pertaining to the subject of substance abuse in teens,
Studies have shown...” drones a voice so boring and wrinkly
It does not seem to fit the handsome man.
And even as you imagine him in a Speed-O or tight jeans,
You flip onto what's next, wishing HBO were free,
And think that a movie might have to be your plan.

It's Friday night, and this is what it comes to:
High heels off, watching TV in pajamas, what you call lingerie
That seems more like something your grandma might wear.
The pencil skirts and presentations, the micromanaging boss of two,
The pathetic day fades into bliss, victory after the business fray,
Sweet victory, channel surfing without a care.

I'm not sure I can take another heartbreak.
After the last one, I'm sure there's no such thing as a soul mate.
It's much like stepping in dog ****, this heartache:
Not what you were expecting and the stench is one that stays,
Though you stay up washing it in the night, quite late.
Yet love is a game that everyone plays.

But somehow, he is seeming quite attractive, maybe even my type,
That sweet chuckle, like light reflecting off a glass cup.
It's not so much that it fills the room, not that he's all the hype,
But it's the small reflection of a ray that shines just for me,
Like I'm the only one meant to see
Him laugh.

“This is crazy, but here's my number...” the radio sings out.
I wish I had Carly's courage, but all I can manage is doubt.
“Call me maybe...” she says with tact, while I just manage to hide my face.
What I know of love is loss that doesn't seem to erase.
And now, here, Carly tempts me to feel loss of what was never mine...

Then he crosses the line
In the carpet where I've been concealing eyes.
He shakes my hand and says something, might have been his name,
Oh I'd have listened if I'd been more wise.
But he's smiling again, and this time it is for me, it's mine to claim,
And so I introduce myself and take his hand,
This is adventure I never planned,
But oh, how sweet the light that shines from his eyes.

She dribbles up and down the driveway
A red handball that bounces up
With the same vivacity as her heart.
“Come on, Grandpa!” she will say,
When she realizes I'm smiling over my coffee cup,
And I'll get up to join her in my soul's old art.

With a rather new stiffness I'll throw toward the net,
And my mind goes to what was and what's not yet:
From dunking with friends in schoolyard courts
To each banana bread breakfast and protein shake snack,
To the luxuries of life and vacation resorts
Of stardom and fame before the injury of my back...
But she will be the most famous star,
I'll buy her a basketball for Christmas this year.
She'll pass me up, be better by far,
And she'll see something glorious when she looks in the mirror...

The ball hits the roof, seems I aimed too high
And I wonder, again, that cursed question: why?
I put my arms down and let out a sigh
As she chases after the ball.

I turn to sit back down, get back to my chair
When she runs up and pulls the back of my hair,
She pouts a little, saying, “No, that's not fair!”
It begins to dawn, I haven't lived since that fall...

The fall that broke my back,
The fall that broke it all,
The fall that took me from riches to lack,
The fall that keeps me from standing tall...

“Shoot it, Grandpa!” she calls to me
And what can I really do but comply,
I shoot and hit the roof, missing very clearly,
But she breaks into applause, and I begin to cry:

For she is my biggest fan,
Though the smallest in stature of them all,
And her applause is all I need
To look again in the mirror, first time since the fall.
She shows me I am worthy
Of affection, I am my granddaughter's glory.

“So what makes you the best of all potential employees?
What makes you stand out from the crowd?”
He need not speak his mocking of me out loud
As he leans back to rest in smirking self-ease.

But who can blame him, in all honesty?
Who could respect my bumbling and fumbling?
Every answer eluded me, with each question came crumbling
Down any confidence I had of interviewing successfully.

I begin in a voice almost inaudible:
“Kind sir, though my interview skills are hardly laudable,
When I'm in my element, I'm pretty nice and friendly...”
He interrupts, “Speak louder, son, we're in a factory!”

My family said list what qualifies me
When asked such questions, list them: 1, 2, 3...
So I take a deep breath, lean forward in my chair
And look straight in his eyes through my emo-cut hair.

“Good sir, I'm dedicated, in early, out late..
Um....yeah, I mean, I'll work no matter my state.
I'm always working for something; I think I'm pretty motivated...
And people tell me I'm smart, like, I'm educated,
Uhm, yeah, all that, and also, I'm organized,
Like I'm really pretty OCD, I line my pencils up by size...”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I've heard this all before,”
He says as before I can think of something after number 4.
He looks at me with his hand ready to dismiss,
But suddenly I discover I've a heart to resist,
And more than resist, a heart to defend,
My person from this man who isn't worth my rear end.

“Before I leave, good sir,
I pray you allow,
One more list of words,
This one about the crowd.”

He rolls his eyes, but says, “Go on.”
And so I begin as though nothing's wrong:

“Sir, I think you might be right,
The crowd is indeed more dedicated than I:
They pursue whatever they see in sight
And they'll stop an nothing, they'll leave you to fry.
I can tell you also they cling more to their motives that I to mine,
But theirs are rooted in the love of money, *** and wine.
My motives, I fear to tell, are more easily given up
Once I recognize my errors and find bitter taste in my cup.
Moreover, I am less educated than the crowd
In matters concerning **** and prison life and crack;
I wonder at the courage my naivete to speak aloud
Or admit to you the great amount of knowledge I lack.
Finally, I'm less organized, to a great degree,
The crowd is much more cunning than me
And they plan out things so much better than I,
What ever will I do if things go awry?”

“Good sir, if this makes me less in your eyes,
Then the job you offer I'd likely despise.
So give me a call, take me or leave me,
But never, never, never dismiss me.”

Surely sunlight will come with the dawn,
But will I last to see it break the night?
Or will my final breath be drawn
Before the healing of that glorious sight?

Oh how I fight, for you, dear one,
Thrashing against unseen foes
Whose suffocating presence, whose woes,
Diminish to a dream memories of the sun.

Darling, I will sing you a lullaby,
Though I tremble at darkness as you, as a child.
When I fear that all is lost, when I can no longer cry,
I will comfort you with a melody mild.

My child, I pray for you that your mother would be strong,
That the deep black of night would not swallow her song.
She needs a soft tune as much as you do.
A child, I pray, for a swaddling light in the dark and deep,
For a suckling of peace, for arms to rock me to sleep.
This mother cannot keep this child without You.

The night is almost gone, and the day is near.  
Therefore let us lay aside the deeds of darkness
and put on the armor of light.*

How pervasive this darkness
And how choking its black.
Very few could breath here.
I wonder at this starkness,
No, I wonder what it lacks,
Growing perhaps too accustomed to fear.

Does hope look any different though?
Or will light just show me the dark more clearly?
Neither day nor night seems relief to show,
Every hour clings me to life barely.

Every friend I tell holds my hand with weakness,
Venturing to guess at the reason I hold
Every new detail with certain bleakness,
Reviewing my case as a doctor would.
Yet none knows the depth of the wound in my soul,
Truly none knows how closely I hold this knife.
Hope they hold out as though I desired life.
I want only reprieve from this black-hearted control.
No, I desire not life but a way out, friend.
Give me pills or a pistol, that seems a sure end.

To admit this to my friend I would never,
Oh but there's One who has known it forever...

“Stand firm,” He commands,
To me quite a demand,
And I plead with Him I care no longer for life's light.
Neither for death's black, but on oblivion I have my sight,
Denying reality of both extremes.

For once, though, I consider, for once I wonder:
Is hope something different than the nightmares I dream?
Reviewing a bit, with a sense of washing over, I discover
Mustard seeds are really smaller than they seem.

It might be the passersby that amuse me:
The brightly dressed young woman whose ease
And deeply warm smile suggest convincingly
She is a new bride, her heart dancing like the breeze;
Or her companion, whose strength beams
Through his eyes and brightens his gaze,
His love, like the sun's light streams
Over his young wife, whose laughter seems his praise;
Or the gaggle of adolesents,
From whose conversation I catch words
Like “amped” and “dude,” most of which to me make no sense,
Whose clothes seem much worn than what their parents can afford;
Or it might be the happy child
Giggling in her mother's arms,
Whose fun consists of simply flailing all wild
And watching the smiles of those the fun disarms.

Or it might be that I am the youngest of them all,
Cane on the bench beside me,
Taking in the world, anew, fresh, though this be my 76th fall.
If this park bench view means anything, very clearly:
Life is a smiling thing.

It's our 100 day celebration,
America and me -
100 days ago, this nation
And I fell in love, so innocently.

Maybe it's the splotchy clothing pattern they call camo,
Maybe it's the way they shorten all their words, like “ammo,”
Or maybe it's the drawl and the music they've named “country”
Or the way they cannot pronounce my name and just call me “Lily.”

The boys all call me pretty and ask me where I'm from,
The girls seem confused and ask me why I've come
From Korea to the South,
But I thought it only proper to move from South to South.
(Some ask me if I'm from the North with a sense of disdain,
I didn't know they knew about communism and it's pain...)

I love their children most of all,
The little boys in that camo stuff
And the girls in pink and purple,
And if that's not enough,
The most beautiful little girls wear insects and animals on their dresses,
Butterflies and puppies, looking like little empresses.

America, today they gave me bunches of little hearts,
Today I remember the day I gave you my heart.
They said, “It's Valentine's Day, give a letter to your loved one,”
And so I'm writing to you, America, our romance is just begun.

Legs crossed, propped up on a chair,
Being careful to cross them since I'm wearing a skirt,
Sipping a white chocolate raspberry steamer,
I run my fingers through my hair,
At once relaxed and sleepily alert,
I hear a man ask the barista for more creamer.

Two new books, two whole worlds, sit beside me,
My pretty new bag sits there too.
My cellphone awaits some call I probably won't take,
For I am at peace in the moment, you see,
And nothing will interrupt my view,
For everything, everything, is at stake.

I feel the slight pressure
Around my finger,
I sense the sparkle before it hits my eyes.
I look up from my new jewelry
To the man who put them on me,
And suddenly I'm surprised.

I had wondered where He would lead me,
I didn't think he would bring me anywhere,
And now, in the local shop for coffee and tea,
I find I'll follow him everywhere.