"unweighted" poems
The joyful heart is the buoyant heart—
empowered to rise above its circumstances,
unweighted, unburdened, unbound,
tied only to that which would lift it higher,
untethered from anything which would
pull it down, pull it under or suffocate it.
It's the free heart, quiet and at rest
yet jubilant and uncontained,
the celebrating heart, the praising heart,
the thankful heart, the heart set on pilgrimage,
bent on adventure, journey and romance.
All the while it's a waiting heart
because it's a yielded, led heart—
a heart which doesn't run ahead of the LORD
but willingly, quickly to the LORD—
a heart that though eagerly anticipating each
twisting turn, next horizon and changing path
keeps its eyes fixed not on the scenery
but forever on the Shepherd
because it's a heart persuaded
that He alone is the Great Reward
for which it has always been looking.
True joy is only ours when we find an endless
source of satisfaction, and of these I know only One!
The secret to all joy is to crave Him above all else.
The joyful heart is the one addicted fully to Him,
desperate for Him to the expense of all else,
willing to sacrifice everything to have that craving satisfied.
Joy and idols, I have learned,
do not easily reside together in the same heart.
So if I find that joy is chased away
the most likely culprits are my own desires.
What am I wanting more than Jesus?
For if intimacy with Him is the supreme goal of my life
then nothing can arise which I'm not enabled to bear with joy.
There is, I suppose, nothing so reliable as suffering and loss
to expose all of the hidden idols within me.
It's surely those who have suffered the greatest
and most frequent losses for Christ who are also
most capable of knowing the deepest and most abiding joy.
For it's when we've been stripped bare of everything else
that we begin to know for certain that our joy is based
not on the temporary blessings of our circumstances
but only on the presence of the Eternal Blesser Himself.
Sometimes He offers to us all that is in His right hand,
but for any with eyes truly opened to see
the most precious of times may be those
when He offers to us only the intimacy of His right hand.
Rivers of sadness can open up
into wide gulfs of endless delight and
are often the very courses needed to carry us there.
When all is lost, we find to our amazement
that, even so, we still have ALL
and no one can rob us of it.
When He takes everything from us
He proves Himself to be EVERYTHING to us.
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 4:11 PM UTC
It would be vivid orange because that is her favorite color.
The color of her; Always bold and sometimes jubilant with laughter.
I'd make my baby sister a blanket to lay on her bed and keep her warm throughout winter.
Her room is always coldest.
On the ends their would be tassels.
Some black, bright blues, vivid greens and pinks. Everything to represent her many sides.
She can be anywhere from caring baby blue
to frank and
unsparing
Black.
I am always the cold one in the family.
Yet, even when she doesn't show it, she is the one who always needs a hug and something--
or someone
to hold her.
When I am off to college the orange blanket can keep her company at night, like I have so many times before.
I'd leave it on her bed,
folded,
with a note that told her to call when the blanket wasn't enough.
Sometimes she would still feel alone,
But I hope it could hold at least the representation
of
a
friend.
When she hurts, it's soft sides can hug her.
When she is happy, almost unknowingly,
It can still rest upon her unweighted shoulders.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 12:34 AM UTC
You Are Not a Number
Not Nearly That Simple
You are not defined by the weighted or unweighted
Or the 2400
You are Not a Shape
You are not fat
You are not skinny
It's only the eyes that can be so petty
You are not a Letter
You aren't the A or the F
You aren't the reports hanging over your head.
Or the mark on your forehead.
You are not a label
You are not simply gay, or simply straight
you aren't smart or stupid
you are so much more than just the words.
You are not what they say
When they think you aren't listening
You aren't what they think
You are not to be put in a box.
You are not theirs
You aren't the clothes or the attitude
If You are afraid of what you are
you may allow yourself to become theirs.
You Don't Have To.
Your life is your choice,
the people not so much,
But it's better to be who you are, than the person people aren't afraid of.
You are who you chose
You are who you aren't
You are those secret desires you keep in the dark.
You are the choices you make
You are how you handle life
You are how you handle pressure
You are the activities you do
You are the way you treat others.
Most of all, you are you
You are the only one inside your head
While lonely at times
It's also beautiful.
You are the only one that sees exactly what you see.
You are the only one that thinks how you think.
You are who you hate
You are who love,
You are how you handle the haters
You are one of a kind.
Don't become anything else.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 6:04 PM UTC
The twisted, weathered maple in my front yard doesn't care what the passersby may say
about his missing branches and hanging limbs
He drinks sweetly the nutrients he needs
He breaths unweighted without thought
He absorbs the warm rays that fall around him
He grows in all directions, without restriction, hugging the wires as if to welcome them into his space
He sleeps when it is dark and wakes up when the dew starts to glisten
That strong, grounded maple in my front yard
I didn't know
I had so much to learn
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 11:47 AM UTC
The smolder's flame it fills the room
And I am mixed inside the fume
Not white but gray I cannot see
The world around, in front of me
As I become unweighted scents
The gravity will recompense
All that's stored within the fix
And painted using candle wicks
Flicker bright then fade to dark
I'm waiting for the slightest spark
I'll ask the sun to give me heat
That my cold heart may start to beat
For when I wake from hazy sleep
The dried up ice will melt to seep
I long to walk as I once did
Through heavy smoke that keeps things hid
So pass away, oh dying times
My soul found rest outside your lines
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 9:37 PM UTC
My dear
please
I urge you to stop
While I love that you try
to show weight the door
and while I'm happy to see you motivated
this obsession
is beginning to hurt you
and
I care more
about your happiness
than how you look
No matter what happens,
or how you look.
I will always be here for you.
You will always be beautiful.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 6:15 AM UTC
Count the stars ohh fairly dust
as the phantoms of love touch
in linguistic anticipation of chance
trading meanings, making winnings
In a room full of laughter and fantasy
on the different levels of unplanned
stormy felts of felt emotive response
of eons ago and pretense of the present
Count the stars ohh fairly dust
sprinkle this self sustainance in plenty
Unweighted and unchained from locks
clocks and clicks of despair and want
In a life full of obligation and expectation
Let me be within the dreamt memory
of the light casts of alone and bliss
as the night caress the unspent future
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 5:21 PM UTC
From deep within, all of our souls begin,
With unweighted steps from the shallow breaths,
Of every race our young hope was to win,
Against any of the James, Marys or Beths.
From deep inside, we try so hard to hide
All the insecurities we suppressed.
In every person we hope to confide
In how we are exterior obsessed,
From deep inward, all the steps we have heard,
From all the mentors we once could have known,
Tweet just a beat louder than the blue bird.
Right here is where all of our fear has grown.
After passing over the peak of mirth,
We sit humble again for our rebirth
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 10:48 AM UTC
Blame,
trapped in a maze of
unwelcomed thoughts
Bumping into walls,
caught, mixing cement out of fear
In grooves of vinyl
tracks, lay lady guilt, spinning a song
weak tonearm
an unweighted needle
keeps skipping back
to the same part of the bridge,
leaving to be Dylan
Plays over and over again
in her head
Jul 27, 2021
Jul 27, 2021 at 6:49 AM UTC