Oh rest, My child.
Recline in My Arms
Under My Shadow.
I love you.
You are loved.
I know your grief.
You come to Me
Never ever give up.
You are Mine.
Bought with a price.
Cynthia J poems 7.24.2017
the sun god reaches out for me
index finger, a fiery beam
to claim my heart again
for the new day
for today's sunset
for tomorrow's sunrise
pierce the indigo cloak
rip it out through broken ribs
the prison bars asunder
claw it out from me
and make me cling
to dear life
compelled to fight
find in strife
what I lost in comfort
When will you return
Oh, explorer of grief and melancholy
When will you return from your trip
In the depths of despair
When will life finally release its deathly grip around you
So that you may smile that familiar smile of yours
So I may finally see the smile I live to see
No matter when you come
No matter how you return
Or in how many pieces
I'll be waiting
I'll be waiting to see your beautiful self again
I'll be waiting to sink in the glimmer of your glares
No matter how dim it has become
I'll be waiting to indulge in the sweetness of your embrace
No matter how much life might have bittered its taste
To feel the touch of your palm
And any cuts life has left behind
And I'll be waiting to nurse back to health
To lighten your cosmic glares again
To sweeten the taste of your kisses
To wash away the dirt withing your cuts
To make you smile again
And even if you don't need me to heal
I'll be by your side
Smiling with you
I'll be here
I'll always be here
Whenever I cry, a part of me rejoices;
A fragment which knows that to feel,
Keeps me grounded, makes things real,
And loves all my inner voices.
When I cry it is openly and proudly,
Though not in search for sympathy,
Or in hopes someone will comfort me,
And certainly never loudly.
When I cry it is for me, and me alone,
I have lost the gift of weeping once before,
And- having missed it- know that there is more,
To grieve once it has gone.
now at the end of a long day
a song for weariness
On days of celebration
and in times of sorrow,
even when death and pain come:
Joy is always available.
Happiness is never to busy.
Comfort is always a hug away.
Mourning is but the tears of a moment.
Family is forever.
We lament for the loss of loved ones.
Yet, love is never lost.
Death but places love somewhere else
till That Day when love is found in faith:
"Fatih is the assurance of things hoped for"
Faith in the resurrection of Christ.
Assurance in the salvation through Jesus' blood.
Hope in the confidence of Christ's coming,
For the resurrection of the redeemed is the moment all will know truth.
Outstretched for once it seemed,
Is a gift.
A gift of love,
A gift of electric butterflies on your palm.
The feeling, it seemed,
The feeling that something so beautiful
Could still possibly be yours;
It is either the butterflies do not want to leave,
Or they are replaced, yearned for, day after day.
A hand is a wonderful thing.
Funny things, yet wonderful too,
A warm to comfort a cold;
A big to envelope a small;
A lover to intertwine with another lovers.
They are creatures to be treasured.