THIS I KNOW

I’m not a poet. I’ll actually admit I have somewhat of a disdain for poetry, but mostly because many J School and (non-poetry) English teachers always told me real writers don’t deal primarily in verse; they may use poetic techniques every once in a while, but only to help them write good papers—and good articles (however, I do appreciate spoken word done right). Anyway, occasionally I write the anti-poem poem (Okay, so maybe it's not so "anti")…(shhh...). I don’t claim it’s great—actually, it stinks…but sometimes I just get the urge to express myself that way. Here I go (don’t laugh; He, to whom this poem is addressed, didn’t:)).

THIS I KNOW

Sometimes I can’t feel you…you seem so far away.
I wonder where you are—do you hear me when I pray?
I know you do—in my head I mean, but sometimes my heart goes astray
It’s times like those when I pray what David prayed—search me—
Search me, Oh God, and know my heart, try me and know my thoughts…
Let me hang on, until I get it—until my heart gets it…

I’ve gone days like this—cheerful, but not joyful;
Me, but not completely—
Hang on, I keep saying, because I know there’s a light…

Then, without fail, you show it to me…
It’s not always so bright—sometimes it’s glowing from a corner;
But then I go closer, and it covers all of me…

Sometimes I see it when I least expect it—
Like now, when I’m all alone, typing for class…

And suddenly I understand it’s a lovely day; you hear me when I pray.

I’m not much the rhymer--thoughts don’t come out that perfectly—
I’m much more the weeper—I let it all out, and know you’ll make sense of it.

…so thank you for making sense of me, and showing me I’m never alone;
You’re with me, and you want to show me great things—
You do show me great things—
If I just hang on.

You love me, this I know.
You’ve told me so—over and over again…

And I praise you.