Photo Credit: by the author
Matthew 5 (KJV): 3 Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. 4 Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted. 5 Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth. 6 Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled. 7 Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy. 8 Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God. 9 Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God. 10 Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. 11 Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake. 12 Rejoice, and be exceeding glad: for great is your reward in heaven: for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you. 13 Ye are the salt of the earth: but if the salt have lost his savour, wherewith shall it be salted? it is thenceforth good for nothing, but to be cast out, and to be trodden under foot of men. 14 Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid.
Photo Credit: by the author
The Only Choice
Whimsical, against the silence
rejoicing – still as the shadow’s breath
rising, in flight, they cling to the air,
speaking gentle prayers as they weep
then grace each heart with the wonder of a song
too beautiful for words,
too wonderful for hearts – a song
breaking through the lost thoughts of a dream,
blowing away the tendrils of yesterday’s story –
rising, they meet the skies, feathers whooshing
away the sounds of a heavy sun,
who leaves traces of kindness, traces of warmth
music, in the breeze
in the trees, leaves dance to the tunes
created by the fiery feathers – the trembling light
beyond the oak – in spite of her strength
humble as the summer’s sigh,
spreading across the mountains,
glistening quietly
a soundless urge to grieve
where there was the song, sent by the robin
in echoes of soprano notes from the wren
and aged tenors in the still….
Whispers of what it means to believe
as the stars, the sun and the trees
I see the reflection of One who sees me,
and I believe…
Yes, I believe…
In the heart, where His story sings –
coloring my thoughts in grace,
hopeful, as the morning who fades
beneath the purr of a hummingbird
whose song is more a prayer, unheard
than the wistful tune of the other birds,
who whistle and croon,
rising to meet a melancholic June,
where night shadows fade
beneath the glistening dew, the heavens
pouring out their grace,
so soon – we will know the meaning
behind the story, the hope
living within…
a hope that comes from believing
in Him, the music
that lives on, forever
a light who silences every shadow,
a hope that never lets hearts dwell
in the lonely places,
in the shame and despair,
in the longing, where a destiny reveals
what it means to need…
the yearning bleeds, flowing
over the stars,
through the winds and rivers
it is the voice, the rhythm
a song who never quite remembers
it is His love that speaks
rising through the soundless needs,
remembering, as our heart hears
only the prayers of birds and bees –
but we – in all our realities
know the love that succeeds
in blessing away our doubts with belief
belief that remembers a voice
making His love our only choice!
