Should I?

The sky projects your fame,
The sea reflects your name,
The stars uncountable, how it brings me shame
that I've not thanked you for blessings with number the same.
The mountains shout "Glory!"
The wind cries "Holy!",
and here I am only
whispering your name slowly.
And I think, "how pathetic",
I know David would've said it.
My pride blinds the aesthetic.
And only You can be my medic.
Should I project like the sky?
Reflect like the sea?
Shout like the mountains?
Cry like the winds?
Should I shine like the sun,
in celestial majesty,
to let everyone know that you are God?
Won't you fill me again?
Bring me to you,
Mold me to you,
Ignite my being, oh God.
I'm tired of being tired.
I want to be wired,
I want to be on fire,
You are my desire!

Falling

Free-falling, no impact, no finite end.
Endlessly given second chances.
Compassion sprinkled on every aspect,
Platter after platter served in abundance,
And yet, opposition stands.
Gravity commences and ground can be seen.
Closer and closer, little chance at living, then--
The chute is pulled, the ground crumbles through,
Like pieces of a puzzle, jumbled once more.
The falling continues, in perfect ecstasy, until doubt comes again.
A cycle familiar, yet never learned.
A grace daily given, but never earned.

His Promise

Give us this day our daily bread,
for we know that you will fill us.
As we listen to the promises you said,
we know that you will care for us.
Abandon us, you will never,
no struggle will we endure alone.
By our side you stay forever,
only you can bring us home.

Dreams

Everoccuring,
realistic and tangible
so that the wind is visible,
that the lover is kissable.

Dumb are the Learning,
And enemies become our friends
And pink clouds taste of candy that
the cloud vender forever vends.

Wishes are turning
into true and intimate dreams,
and the happenings that are seen
in subconsciousness only gleam.

Stars become soldiers,
That fight to keep the dream alive.
Dressed in luminous armor,
They triumph the night.

Fish Faith

The mesh of net,
That fishes fret,
Descends below
The deep, dark sea.
The violent sloshes,
The boat, it washes,
And on deck above,
The fisherman plea.

The rain, the current, the thunder
Insurgent
But still they continue to heave.
"Ho!" Sam cries. No visibility in their eyes
Yet, they continue to believe.

A fourth, a fifth, and many more after
They pull up the net and release it again.
Each time disappointing,
Empty-handed they seem,
They have pulled the net up nine, now for ten.

No fish, no food.
What would the wives say?
And their children, having stomachs empty and crude.
So they persevered in hope that fish was to come and heaved and hoed till the cows came home.

The smile of God spread across the sky,
In approval of their endurance and faith.
A gill, a fin, and 100 more appeared in the net, as if it was safe.
Shouts of praise rose as they pulled in ther manna.
They cried, and hugged and exclaimed in joy, "Hosanna! Hosanna! Hosanna!"

That mesh of net,
That fishes met,
Sat on the deck above.
A trophy, told, of gleaming gold,
Could simply not compare.
The sweat of men,
That drives them,
Is stemmed from all their love.
Their prize was not of pride, but a prize to share.