I realize that this post is horribly late, but I've been horribly busy. And on top of everything, I was working on another poem, which will not appear here, and which I hope my mother will enjoy. Anyway, I still haven't had time to finish the poem I've been wanting to post on here, so here's something older (though still new to the blog). Enjoy!
Before me my memory's doorway stands closed,
Sealed like the heart of the sun from my sight.
This door has not chinks in its armor, no knot
Into which I might peer so to see what I've seen,
Revisit the lands I've forgot.
And surely beyond it my first heartbeat lies,
The first time I looked into mother's sweet eyes,
Or first felt the safety of father's strong arms.
And maybe, beyond it lays something more precious,
A thing that gives strength and strikes fear
For it shakes the foundation of each thing that is.
Yes, somewhere beyond this door's obstinate stance
Is the voice of my Maker.
Breathing His breath - a bright spark from His heart -
Into this vessel of clay.
Yet memory's fickle, and some of its secrets
It jealously guards, lest our faltering faith
Should be rendered impotent.
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