Sunday, June 26, 2011

Bridge (A Story)

A treasure seeker was finding his way through the woods when he came upon a bridge. On the other side of it was the most beautiful sight. When he approached the swinging limb and old man stopped him. This old man had and old torn robe and dirt stained skin. His hair was gray but painted brown by the mud. He had many cuts and bruises, scars to remind him of his mistakes he made. The old man spoke, "You must not cross this bridge until you have left everything you posses right where you stand."

"But", the man begins to plea, "All my gold and all my treasures, it has taken me a lifetime to gather them."
"To cross this bridge with so much weight will make it shake, for it is not strong after many years it has worn out and can't stand strong. Sir you must leave your valuables or you will fall!"
"Nonsense." Says the wanderer, "I have no time for this foolishness!"

And the wanderer walked up to the bridge before staring down into the black river waters.

"Old man, why do these waters run so dark?"
"Because every time a man falls in he is consumed by the waves and his sin colors the water blacker than the darkest night."
"So you say it is evil that makes the waters run black rather than blue in this here river?"
"Yes, every crooked man has bled his very pain to color this river."
"Why is no other river as dark as this, when men have fallen into them."
"Because all rivers lead to this river, and this river flows on forever."
"This is a myth, and you make a mockery of my intelligence. Evil has no color and there is no river that will go onto eternity! This must be a joke you play on travelers to keep them from crossing this bridge. I bet when a man crosses it you take his belongings for yourself, and you sell them to the highest bidder. You are nothing but a thief, and I will have no tolerance for you!"
"If you are worried I may steal, then I will cross the bridge with you."

The wanderer was lost for words, and before he could speak the old man told him,"Drop your treasures, throw them into the water, and follow me. If you feel that you need them then you can dive right back in to get them."

The wanderer was angered but did as the old man asked, curious about what resided on the other side, and confident of his own strength. The old man went first, holding onto the ropes for balance they began to cross with the wanderer just a few steps behind. 

Many times the wanderer fell but the old man caught him. He would slip but the old man would set him back on his feet. He was worried about his ability to cross this bridge, and wondered how the old man could cross it so easily. Time and time again this bridges trials proved to better the man, and he grew confident that the bridge will stand. 

As they neared the end the old man's scars began to fade. His torn robe turned into a silk one which would lift your hopes at the touch. His skin became pure of blemish, and his hair grew long and beautiful. The wanderer looked at the sight with to many questions. They reached the end, to a gate built high with pearls. The old man was now a beautiful being, and for the last time he spoke, "These waters have darkened, but it has yet to consume another soul, you left your glory behind to accept glory of a higher standard. You had many trials but your faith held strong, and now the bridge was your last problem."

The angel opened the gates, and the light shown out brighter than the sun. A peace overcame the wanderer and beautiful music filled his ears. The wanderer entered the gates, and this beauty was forever his. 

Saturday, June 25, 2011

Mirrors

Your life is like a mirror,
you can see what is behind you,
and everything around you.
But what about whats ahead of you?
This mirror blocks out everything.
This includes your hopes and dreams.
And you stare at it forever,
hoping it will break on its own.

Shatter that mirror.

Friday, June 3, 2011

Midnight Sun

This poem is very much based on a poem which I have heard. It greatly applied to my life so I decided to remake the poem in my own version. I do not know the author or the name of the poem I derived the idea from, but I give great thanks to him. Enjoy.

My grandpa use to tell me, if you go out in the middle of the night,
and look way, way , way out into the sky,
you may see the sun rise.

And when its quiet enough outside,
if you took a bag out at night,
you might catch a snipe.

I always thought my grandpa was right,
those jokes are what made my childhood nice,
and I would wait to see the sun rise at night,
and hoping that one day I would catch that snipe.

But my imagination just died one day,
I figured the sun only rise in the day,
I guess the snipes must have all ran away,
or was it time to start work and stop play.

I really loved and miss those younger times,
when I had my growing childhood mind,
where possibility did not need to be defined,
where imagination could not be confined.

I guess now that everything must die,
from childhood to our everyday lives,
as you get older you mind will run dry,
these rivers wont flow, no matter how much you cry.

But for some reason I decided to go out one night,
and just for some fun I looked into the sky,
I mean way, way, way, out into the sky.

And I swear I saw the sun rise.









The Flowers of the Grey Fields

If you look out into these fields, these dark grey fields,
you will feel your heart sink inside you.
For the flowers have all died away,
and though the seasons never change,
they froze up into statues of ice and cried.
The sang songs of woe with each other,
trying to rise up to the top,
trying to be the tall, blooming flower.
The one beautiful flower in the field of dead flowers.
The flower that stood out.

But if you want to find the truly beautiful flower,
you will need to wander these fields for years.
For the prettiest flowers are the ones that don't try to be beautiful,
they just stay hidden among the rest.
Hiding from the biting cold,
and the ever blowing winds,
they blossom, but they don't stand out.

There are no flowers that stand out in this field of grey,
the prettiest flowers have all gone astray,
turning away from the Son and now every day,
they are slowly crumpling and dying away.

Oh, little flower hidden among the rest,
you don't have to try to be your best,
because when the grey flowers time is done,
you are the one that kept your eyes on the Son,
just don't drop your eyes from the Son.