Poems

When I Thought My Darkest Hour, He Stood Watching at the Gate; Site Caught Up to Heaven's Shower, Raining Plumes My Heart Inflate.

Titans Stand Exuding Language, Only Few Do Understand; I Have Seen the Greatest Army, Against Hell They Make Their STAND.

God's Great Giants, Tall and Shouldered, Spreading Flame, Initiate: Holy Fire on Every Soldier, RIVERS Flow, His Will Mandate.

The morning lays its gold across the floor, A page turns softly in the waking air; What yesterday had hidden at the door Becomes a small beginning waiting there.

The night had named the shadows one by one And told the heart that darkness knew its name; But windows learn the language of the sun, And wounded walls can still receive the flame.

No trumpet calls the buried seed to rise, No crowd applauds the root beneath the stone; It presses toward a light it cannot see And breaks the earth by faith it learned alone.

So let the old regret release its claim; Let mercy find the room where sorrow stayed. The dawn has never asked the dark for leave— It only comes, and night becomes a shade.

Stand gently now where yesterday was torn; You do not need to conquer all your fate. One honest step can carry you toward morn, And grace is already where morning waits.

Between the pain and the purpose There lies an unnamed road, Where yesterday still whispers And tomorrow bears no code.

The mile is made of questions, The dust remembers rain; The feet keep learning forward While the heart relearns its name.

No wound becomes a blessing Because somebody calls it so; But mercy tends the broken ground Where stubborn seedlings grow.

The night may keep its thunder, The scar may keep its line; Yet neither owns the ending Nor can cancel the design.

For purpose is not payment For the suffering we knew; It is the life we build with grace From what we have walked through.

Between the pain and the purpose, When no bright answer shows, Take the next true step in silence— That is how the pathway grows.

There is a quiet between heartbeats, A chapel no wall can contain, Where breath bows low before wonder And peace does not argue with pain.

I entered with pockets of thunder, With answers rehearsed for the night; The silence refused every bargain And asked me to sit with the light.

No voice split the cedar above me, No fire wrote words in the air; A sparrow kept singing its portion— And somehow the singing was prayer.

I loosened the fist of tomorrow, Released what was never mine; The river kept carrying evening, The stars kept arriving on time.

There is a quiet between heartbeats Where striving and hiding both cease; Not empty, but held by a Presence Who enters the room as peace.

I searched the ruins for a reason, For proof the fall had spared my name; But every mirror wore a fracture, And every doorway spoke of flame.

Then from the rubble rose a whisper: “A crown is more than polished gold; It is the weight of truth remembered When every borrowed title folds.”

The stone that cut became a marker, The ash became a place to sow; The hands once chained by their own hiding Learned what the open hands could hold.

Royal blood is not exemption From the valley, wound, or test; It is mercy making servants From the hearts it has addressed.

So build no throne above the broken, Build a table, set a chair; Let the crown become compassion, Let the kingdom enter there.

I found no palace in the wreckage, Still grace revealed what ruin knew: Royalty lives in the rubble When love makes all the pieces new.

His Love Burns Hotter than Twin Towers; My Life in Smoke Evaporates. Despite What’s Thrown into the Ire, It’s Heaven’s Voice That Follows Fate.

Who Can Contend with Leading Shadows If They Come from Glory’s Gate? Oh, Master, Spare Me from the Fire, If Only for Your Mercy’s Sake.

You Do Prepare for Me a Table, Yet My Enemies Their Chests Inflate. I Hide My Eyes as I Perspire; Your Rod and Staff Are Never Late.

Quest Aloof in Heaven’s Cavern, Mind at Ease Near Eden’s Door. Tap Is Open at Jesus’ Tavern; New Wine Pours into My Core.

This World Is Broken with a Shatter; Comes the King Through Veils Which Tore. Riding Strength of Blazing Glory, Atop His Beautiful White Horse.

Beast Is Tapping Kings Majestic, Rhythm as His Sword Does Sway. Firmly Flexed Against Such Honor, Bouncing Gently in the Way.

King of Kings and Lord of Glory, All Bow Low to Him, They Say. Do Not Wait for That Bleak Moment; Bow Your Knee to Him Today.