The Ordinary Poet

She sits alone at midnight

Propped up on her pillow

With pen in hand

She listens to the wind blow

Thoughts flutter in the moonlight

To and fro

She writes in whispers

Dark Night of the Soul

What cherished dreams

Her heart let go

When circumstances stole her time

She tucked away inside her mind

And grieved the dreams she left behind

And all a woman longs for

At forty-five or so...

To read her poems, her life, her story

Reveal the themes that still control me

I have prose she's written for me

Between loads of laundry and cups of coffee

Songs scribbled on a paper bag while driving to the grocery

And this is art...

Practical and holy

While life is not a long romance

And life comes with a million deaths

Her dreams will have a second chance

For God redeems mistakes, regrets

His hand, HIs hand, is sovereign in this dance

Then...

Suddenly hope rises

From ashes of rejection

Past paradigms shift

Could it be a resurrection?

An open door no man can shut

Grace

Calls her name midst the rut

Of mundane acts

And tedious facts

And grief she can't forget

Those worn out words upon her page

Say

"Wise men know that seasons change."

It isn't over yet...