Bumblebee

Yellow and black and worn back then
I burned you a bit on accident
You made a noise when I shook you round
And your felt antennae were always droopy.

You were a gift that I had got
And now I could not even say
Where you’ve gone just like the ghost
Who gave me life and gave me you.

Memories are hard to hold
but some are hard to lose
I wish that you were still with me
That I might just remember.

A Burning In My Bones

I suffer under the burden of my own introspection
The weight of which is like unto lead
Or perhaps in Egypt I carry bricks
With every thought I have.
I have been hard on myself when I should have been soft
And soft when I should have been hard.
And the feeling of failure that snatches my joy
Is another brick thrown on my back.
“Have mercy on me!”
I cry in the evening
“Sustain me…”
I whisper each morn.
There has been a cleaning,
a beating,
a molding,
a forming,
it is a fire that burns me
my mistakes burn like fire
each success is a flame.
And everywhere I am consumed.

“The weight of which,”
I collapse.
Do not delay
Long expected king.

I have been to market and to church
and in the coffee house I have discussed
all of knowledge that I knew
and then I took a sip.

There is a burning.

At the concert hall I sat down
And listened to the works of man
and all I heard was God’s own voice
in every perfect note.

There is a fire.

If I sing in our church choir
will I feel the hand of God?
Or am I filled with fool’s desire
to trip and fall again.

Let me be so consumed.