Poetry: Of My Soul

Everything was dark
To the depths of my soul
Never had been see a spark
From my blackness without parole

Wronged marked the door
Sorrow staid any stream of light
Bitterness and vengeance were evermore
In my endless night

My torment and fear
At the hands of my self
A pain unable to bear
Was the dimension of my gulf

I was doomed to my fate
Of misery everlasting
Payment for sins un-berated
No hope of which to cling

What is this?
A trickle of warmth
Has found its way to my abyss
It is blood and water and breath

Come for my pain to dismantle
It melts through my windows and door
With hope that fire kindles
Breaking, forgiving to my core

It is a hand, a whisper
A liberator who has suffered more than I
He lifts me above and higher
Where death cannot come nigh

Light streams all around
Darkness gives way to the morning
With it joy is found
Dissipating hate and mourning

He uncovered me there
Trapped in the prison of my own soul
In sin’s desperate lair
And cleared the charges of my scroll.

by Ia Stavig
An Inkling

Poem: My Place

 
My Place 

 
 
If I had a place, there’d never be a place,
to which I would rather return,
I’d sleep there by night, and clean there by day,
and the butter by my hands would turn.
 
 
The walls would be wooden, the floors would be bare,
the kitchen simple and plain,
The shelves would be covered, the table all set,
there wouldn’t be a thing to call vain.
 
The bedroom would be furnished, the closet half full,
the mirror perfect with age,
The drawers would be chipped, the bed would be hard,
but the room would smell like a sage.
 
The furnace would sit, right next to the couch,
the fire would be out until night,
Paintings would hang, right next to the wall,
and the carpet would be such a sight.
 
I’d dust every day, wash dishes by hand,
and weed the garden at noon,
The chimney would smoke, the roses would grow,
this place would be perfect, I know!
 
 
I’d have a corral, built out of sticks,
but they would be thick and broad,
Inside I’d have mustangs, of all different breeds,
and their heads at me would nod.
 
Their manes would be thick, their noses so rough,
their eyes would be filled with fear,
Their tails would be long, their ears would be sharp,
their hooves would be pounding I hear.
 
I’d sit on their backs, learn how to ride,
and soon find out how they speak,
No whip would come down, no spurs would press in,
and soon they’d be gentle and meek.
 
I’d ride every day, train them ’til noon,

and then cool ’em off in the shade,
We’d walk the plains, gallop the slopes,
and twenty friends I’d soon have made.
 
 
The grass would be green, the sky would be blue
and I would be happy and gay,
The trees would be tall, the bushes so wide,
and heaven water would spray.
 
The ponds would be clear, the pebbles so smooth,
the sun would shine down on my back,
The woods would be thick, the prairie spread wide,
and a home I’d no longer lack.
 
 
by Emilie B.
An Inkling