Donne

One of my favorite of John Donne's sonnets:

Batter my heart, three-personed God; for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurped town, to another due,
Labor to admit You, but O, to no end;
Reason, your victory in me, me should defend,
But is captivated, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betrothed unto your enemy.
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again;
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

Untitled

I've never been to Paris
And I've never been a queen
I've never seen my face
In one of those glamour magazines

But I've heard tales of a Kingdom
A Kingdom truly sublime
Of a Beauty, a Worth untold by men
And I've been told it's mine

A worth not measured by scales
Or by the jewels found therein
No, this Kingdom's worth's intrinsic
It's worth's instilled by Him

So I may never go to Paris
And I'll never be a queen
But I'm an heiress in truth & grace
Of a Kingdom that can't be seen

A poem from high school

O noble knight, draw not nigh unto me.
When near, the Beauty turns Beast.
Come closer, if you dare
To look upon the one you deem so fair;
But blame me not, for I warned you
Love even what you see and you are no fool.

A Promise

A promise has been uttered, written long ago
A Refuge there is and always will be
From the deceits we would be sold.

Love does not blossom overnight
But is forged through deliberate flames;
A bond, an iron pure and bright
To withstand the ensuing storms.

Love is not fickle, does not waiver from its object,
Is not out for what it can get.
Until this lesson be learned,
What havoc is made in an untried heart!

Love is not easy, but love is best;
It is the one thing that means something.

Is my heart capable of love?
I hardly know...

May I bear my refining.
May I emerge with a stouter heart.

The One who hears my heart's deepest longings
And sees my tears
Is Faithful.
He will carry me til the end.
At least of that I can be sure!

Inspiration

The heavens declare the glory of God,
But not many may stop to listen.
The stars and moon call out and croon,
But who looks up to see them glisten?

A son of Adam, by work still plagued,
Toils diligently and long.
Though this work he would not choose,
It grows him strong.

At the end of the day, he goes his way
Seeking starlight and peace.
With upturned face, he is embraced by grace
And finds his soul's release.

New courage is he given,
And strength for another day.
He wakes next morn with focus and desire,
Still dreaming with feet planted firmly aground.

He has not lost hope; no, he has hope to spare
By heaven his sonship is bound.