To Grow Flowers

girl in tulips

There was a little girl

In her flower beds

Nothing ever grew

Cause the rain always poured

So that the sun never shown

 

She was covered with mud

The cold splatter of the water

Created puddles in the garden

Growing into a swamp

Nothing ever grew

 

The girl was sad

Cause her flowers never grew

She questioned the hard land

“Why are you so cruel,

And never let my flowers grow?”

 

Suddenly the clouds parted

The sun shown down on her

Drying the mud off her

Her plants pushing up

Blooming all around her

 

A voice filled the garden

“You may hate the rain,

But without it,

You can’t enjoy the flowers

That are born from it.”

Ocean Waves

ocean waves

These ocean waves bring me closer to you

Every time I drift away

The next tide brings me right back

Even closer than where I started

Cold and salty, yet refreshing

As the fresh morning dew

These ocean waves, they become rocky and rough

The roaring of the sea is deafening

I am tossed by every crest and roll

But if I listen closely with you in my mind

They suddenly become calm and clear

Bringing me safely to shore

These ocean waves remind me of you

Your might is stronger than them

Your voice is louder than them

Though they surround me

You encompass even more than they do

Even all my sins scattered across the shore

You are the ocean waves that wipes over them

Discarding them out to sea

Making them only a distant memory

I abandon my old life and cast myself into you

Since you are the ocean waves that redeemed

A wretched sinner like me

I sink into these ocean waves that set me free

Gray

Gray chalk

 

You ask me my favorite color

And I’ll tell you that it’s gray.

You mock me, “That’s ugly,

It’s not a color; ’tis only a shade.”

Unfortunately you don’t see

What I mean so I shall explain

Why to me it’s a color:

Why to me it isn’t passé.

Gray is the color of mornings

Long before the break of day,

The sky of humid afternoons

When its about to start to rain.

The wear of ancient rocks

Who’ve been there for an age,

The hair of aged people

Who watch children on the rocks play.

The iris’s of the children

Who dance in a joyful way,

Cause they needn’t remember

Whether to spell it gray or grey.

Of seals, of moving photography,

The last rain shower in May,

A stone cut chapel, little birds;

What more can I say?

It’s the emotion it evicts,

Not the actual color;

That’s why I like the color gray.