Joy song

Hi everyone,
 
My poem today is about joy in difficult times. In Bible study we are reading the book of Philippians, which Apostle Paul wrote from a prison cell. The opening is about how Paul feels joy for his fellow Christians even though he isn’t in a good spot, himself.
 
Paul reached out to grasp joy, seeking other blessings beyond himself to be thankful for. He had a different attitude compared to other prisoners because of his faith in Christ. Likewise, when we are prisoners of depression, grief, illness, or doubt, let us also have a different attitude. Just as Paul did, we can be attuned to the good things going on around us and rejoice, no matter the bars around us.
 
God bless,
Morgan
 

“Joy Song”
 
          —joy song
from the rocky gray walls of my
prison cell
I hear it.
it lilts like a whispering harp, cradling me 
in soft, careful sound, but
the prison cell invades and leaves
oozing gashes of anxiety,
impossibility, hopelessness… 
 
          —joy song
from the corner of my cell 
I hear it again.
it sings confidently this time,
now a choir standing strong as 
each member’s voice soars to the sky, 
mouth wide with glorious, free sound.
 
          —joy song 
through these bars and gloom
I hear it,
but it does not touch me
until I draw it in, learn the tune,
and sing it back,
letting it echo down the claustrophobic hallway out
the door and into the sunrise, 
letting it rise and then
settle back into a pleasant hum.
 
—joy song
from the chilly gray walls of your
prison cell
you hear it.

 
 
Acknowledgment to my awesome and thoughtful Bible Study group
 
Creative Commons License
Joy song by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Advertisements

Faith

Hi everyone,
 
In this poem, I tried to put into words what I feel about faith. It is a beautifully complex part of my life that continues to challenge and shape me every day. May faith challenge and change you as well.
 
God bless,
Morgan
 

“Faith”
 
it’s burrowing snugly under my grandmother’s quilted
   blankets in a howling winter storm and it is
listening to the crescendo of an orchestra
     resounding with soaring melody out of every
         mouth and vibrating instrument.
it’s clinging to a cliff face with nails
       dug deep in the rock,
  as the wind pushes and pulls me,
    and it is the precious whisper
        of a child saying:
    can you see it?
it’s seeing the world from a mountaintop
   with eyes stretched wide open
      to seize every detail of the ancient
    stones and intricate, knotted trees,
and it is standing on that same mountaintop 
   to soak in the blurry landscapes
     still too far away to grasp,
  trusting that up close each leaf, blossom, 
      creature, path, and creek 
   will dazzle you with all the detail of a 
        stained glass window
      when you walk through those faraway lands
           someday soon.

 
Acknowledgment to Barbara Baker Scira, who provided feedback on this poem.
 
 
Creative Commons License
Faith by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.