Streams of Comfort

It’s almost officially summer. It brings to mind an excerpt from one of my favorite poems, “Remember summer? Bubbles filled the fountain, and we splashed. We drowned in Eden, while Jehovah’s grass-green lyre was rustling all about us in the leaves that gurgled by us…” (The Public Garden, Robert Lowell). Summer is a time of happiness and nostalgia. As part of that nostalgia, I recalled poem I had written a few years ago. It was a time I felt lost in complicated emotions towards certain people in my life. I felt adrift, wondering where my relationships were going. Was I enough? What future did these friendships have? I had to surrender to God because trying to maintain control was leading to my sadness. Giving it to God, not only helped me, but was also good in the long run. I just couldn’t see it back then. I pray that you remember that God holds our future in his hands, though we can’t always see it. We can believe in God’s promises.

Adrift
Somehow I lost both my sails and the compass.
My sight too.
No longer able to access the stars, I drift.
My heart too.
Somehow I survive the storm and find an island.
My prison too.
No longer able to stand the isolation, I scream.
My sadness too.

Adrift
When I feel alone curled up around my thoughts,
I weep.
I came from a distant, warm land but you let me go.
I wept.
I gave myself to the storm, tore my sails and tossed my compass.
I will weep no longer.

Adrift
My fault, maybe, for giving you my heavy load.
Now I’m alone.
My fault for thinking you might understand.
Now I’m alone.
My fault that things got this bad.
Now I’m alone.
My fault you’ll never come back.
Now I’m alone.

Adrift
On my isolated island, I gaze at the stars.
Bright.
Knowing their feelings are nothing.
Empty.
On either side my love feels caged.
Trapped.
Knowing I’ll have to surrender.
Salvation.

Adrift
Maybe the storm was to teach me where home is.
A tether.
To help me reconcile my heart once more.
A balance.
I can find my way back with faith.
A tether.
I’ll be whole again.
A balance.

Alice R.