Firewood
A practiced warrior,
I survey my adversary.
It stands resolutely,
Waiting for my blow.
Moss clings to it like
Tattered remains of royal robes.
Displaying former glory,
The bright greens faded,
Now a dull yellow.
The wind whips between,
Nipping at my nose.
I smell the dried lifesap,
That once flowed free when,
He was king.
He provided for both the
Squirrel and the chipmunk.
His branches and roots,
Both were called home,
For families of birds and rabbits.
The wind whips in again,
Making my eyes water.
Enough!
I strike.
There is a sharp crack.
Enough.
Small Things
A falling leaf,
A hug when in grief,
A petal on a daisy,
A smile when you’re hazy,
An acorn on the ground,
A prayer when you’re bound;
Even though they are small,
God’s glory is displayed in them all.
Beauty
Is it in her walk?
In her smile?
In her frown?
Is it in her eyes?
In her hair?
In her voice?
In her gown?
Does it sparkle like moonlight poured from above?
Or glisten like starlight sewn in her glove?
Yes, though in her, beauty resides,
This I know:
Because in her, He abides-
It shows.
Three poems I had to do for school. The first one was like... whoa... that's really, REALLY overthinking something... IT"S A PIECE OF STUPID WOOD FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE! The second one sounded like I'd stole it from a Hallmark card. BUT! The third.... Hmm...... I really like that one..... it just seemed to...... to... fit. (I was praying pretty hard at the time, so I know it was DEFINATELY more God then I).
As for the joke: "two guys walked into a bar... a third one ducked" *lame joke alert goes off* WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! (what were you expecting? I'M NOT DANE COOK, PEOPLE!!!!)
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