wings will come

In times of turmoil, I am comforted by the psalmist’s words: “He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul….” (Psalm 23:2-3) Restoration sometimes comes through transformation.
 
God bless,
Morgan
 

“wings will come”
 
it is invasive and clings
    around me, a constant reminder.
trapped: changing and no way
      to chew free of bindings 
            I spun myself with wishes and choices
         that I never knew could lead here.
but in the gauzy darkness i
know the wings
    will come.
 
you have been hoping for your own day
         in the open 
     for even longer than I have.
I cannot see you anymore,
     but somewhere in your own cocoon
  you are growing colors like 
      Arizona sunsets
that are outlined with your bold resolve
     like an inked sketch of
     your future.
 
let’s meet in the air,
you and I.

 
 
Creative Commons License
wings will come by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

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Still

Hi everyone,
 
This poem was inspired by the different connotations of the word “still.” When exploring those meanings, I focused on the stillness I think of in Psalm 23 (“He leads me beside still waters”) and the enduring hope I saw in cancer survivors and affected families of those lost to cancer during my experience at Relay for Life (a fundraiser walk for cancer research). One of the laps we walked was after dark, during which we walked in silence “toward a cure” next to luminarias for survivors and the people who have died because of this disease. In this poem, stillness is strength and peace, which we find in the One who told us, “Be still, and know I am God” (Psalm 46:10).
 
Thanks to Rev. Mary Haggard, who gave me the idea for this poem.
 
God bless,
Morgan
 
“Still”
 
dawn hovers, tiptoeing on the edge
of cool waters, its one eye
watching dreamers hang onto sleep.
the world hovers, not breathing,
caught in the gray light like
an old photograph.
still.
 
candles glow by the dark path,
burning onward while quiet feet
step beside their light: feet
moving toward a new future, heedless of
midnight’s clutches, carrying each candle flame
forward,
still hoping.
 
in dawn’s soft air,
you can touch the peace that calms,
the peace that carries.
no matter how much time passes,
if you lift your eyes
it is there, strong.
 
 
Creative Commons License
Still by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.