It Is Time

‘It is time to write your story,’ they say to me.
‘So many need to hear it for themselves.
They need to hear about all that has happened
To you, from the time you were an infant to the time
Of now, when you have so much desire to come Home.
Will you not share your story with others?’
‘I have shared it,’ I tell them.
‘With every poem I write, with every tale I tell,
With every song I sing, I have shared my story.’
‘Keep sharing it,’ they urge me.
‘I can’t. I have tried sharing it for far too long.
It is time for my story to have an ending,
And then it will be time, at last, for others
To pick up the threads.’

My Tongue is Bound

My tongue is bound, I cannot speak.
My power is all but gone.
My pen is broken, the ink all fled.
My talent is moving on.
My voice is cracked, my song has left.
I never again shall sing.
I long only for a lonely
Bell for me to ring.
There’s nothing left that I can do,
I feel it more each day.
I cannot find the strength
To even walk into the fray.
I do not know what my Lord
Shall say to me someday
When all I want for now is
To run and hide away.
And yet I hope, even as I
Cower in nameless dread
That He will someday place
A pierced hand on my plain head
And say, ‘It wasn’t easy
But you’ve made it Home forever.
Just take my hand,
We will all now be together.’

Help Me

‘Help me, good friends,’ I say to them.
‘Help me to stay near the light.
I have nearly given all I have;
I can hardly even fight.
I no longer want to give it my all;
I no longer want to try.
Help me to somehow stay on the path.
Help me, please,’ I cry.
‘I have felt that my time is now,
And yet I am still here.
Help me to walk these last few steps;
Help me to conquer my fear.
Help me to make it back to my home,
Where I so wish to be.
Help me to shake these shackles away;
Help me to become free.
Help me, O help me to give it my all
Even though now it’s true
All I want is to hear the call,
‘It’s over now, you’re through!’
I need your help as never before.
I need you to carry me on.
I need your light and your life as my own.
I need you to help make me strong.
Help me to walk when my strength is no more.
Help me to fight through the pain.
Help me to keep my face to the fore.
That I may realize the gain.
Help me to try when I am done trying.
Help me to run while I’m weak.
Help me to live when the grave’s solace
Is truly all that I seek.
Help me to finish my wandering course.
Help me be finished now.
Help me, that those who hear my full tale
Will someday say ‘Wow.’
Help me to be a hero again,
A force for good on the earth.
Help me to see through my Savior’s eyes
The lesson of how much I’m worth.’

Embraced

At the end of my rope, I’ve naught more to give.
One foot in front of the other.
If I keep moving, I continue to live,
Here among my sisters, my brothers.
All round me they stand, but I feel them no more.
My spirit is trying to leave.
I have given all I have to give.
It is difficult to believe.
The moment arrives,
I will leave! I’ll be gone!
No longer to frequent this place.
Then an angel rushes to my side
And folds me within her embrace.
Ah! I am gasping! Her love is so strong,
It washes over my soul.
Balm to my hurts, my gaping wounds,
In an effort to make them all whole.
Still on my cliff’s edge, for I cannot leave,
I view the abyss below.
‘I feel my time at last has come.
Please!’ I say, ‘Let me go…’
‘Thousands of prayers have reached to heaven
To keep you strong and steady.
Now your time has nearly come,
But you are just not ready!’
‘Then woe is me! I cannot find
A reason to want to stay.
I have fought the fight for all my life.
I am immersed, even now, in the fray.
But my strength is gone, my heart is dark
And I have not the will to fight.’
‘Then I shall hold on to you,’ she says
‘Until you are filled again with light!’

The Dreamer Part Thirteen

The battle raged on. Adialon’s strength grew with every foe slaughtered. His every muscle gave its all, his sinews waxed and waned in perfect balance with his breath, and still his enemies rushed upon him, attacking with ever increasing ferocity. The Warrior was much too engulfed by the battle rage within him to realize that thousands opposed him; there was no end to the hordes pouring into the valley. By that same battle rage that consumed him, Adialon had no memory of what had transpired before the great conflict had begun; nor indeed could he recall its beginning- he was fighting a war that was eternal.
Adialon rejoiced in his heart at the marvelous untamed energy that flowed through him. His enemies feared him so greatly; they fled at every battle cry that burst from his lips. And with a word he summoned them back, and they would turn and rush upon him again, as though they could not disobey the command.
He received endless wounds. By the blades that rose against him, by the weapons that writhed about him at every side, by the hate fueling his enemies’ thrusts, Adialon was pierced at every turn. And at every turn, he would turn again, and unleash a still greater outpouring of their blood. The Warrior inhaled the scent of that blood, and thus his rage grew ever stronger.
‘This is impossible! He cannot still fight us; he is covered in his own blood!’
‘Then we must use greater weapons against him. He cannot prevail against us, for there is no warrior that can withstand the beast that we have bred for decades past. Summon the witch and her pet!’
‘Yes, sir!’ the soldier said sharply. He saluted the commander, then turned and mounted his charger.
‘Giddyap!’ he screamed harshly, kicking the charger with his sharp silver spurs. The animal reared in pain, its hooves beating the icy air. Cruelly the soldier kicked the animal again, laughing at his absolute control over the dumb beast. At the soldier’s third blow, the animal galloped forward, nostrils flared and sides heaving, flying ever faster as his master continued to cut into him.
The soldier laughed again.

The Dreamer Part Twelve

Adialon crested the hill first. As he took in the battle taking place below, his anger began to swell.
‘Wait,’ the Boy said sharply.
Adialon looked over at him.
‘Why do you halt on the verge of destruction, Boy?’ he said angrily. ‘I fight now! They shall not prevail against me; I shall sweep them aside as though they were autumn leaves before the north wind!’
‘This war is ours to fight, Adialon,’ said the Boy bluntly. ‘We are born to fight together. Take your sword, warrior!’
Adialon gasped in astonishment.
There in the Boy’s hand was his magnificent weapon, blazing brilliant gold as it had before, in the instant he had lost it so long ago.
Adialon reached out to take it. Silently, the Boy placed it in his waiting hand.
And thus it begins anew!
Adialon tore down the hillside, the sharp rocks and treacherous frozen ice powerless to slow him or make him fall. Within his breast, the war cry was kindled once again, and began to build as he rushed toward his enemies.
The Boy’s pure green eyes followed him, knowing all that burned in Adialon’s heart, knowing the power that emanated from Adialon’s keen, battle-trained mind; knowing that nothing would or could stop him now.
Adialon would fight a new battle, armed with his ancient, powerful weapon, against an enemy that had defeated him time and time again. But the heart that had fought and lost those battles of old was now new. It was more powerful than it had ever been before, and it would never surrender.
And so it would never fail.
The Boy’s pure green eyes gazed upon the war below. He knew the part he was to play in this dance of death and glory. He had spoken the truth, he and Adialon were born to fight together. But whereas Adialon would be numb to the pain of his many wounds, he, the Boy, would be given wounds innumerable. And he would feel every one.