Tightrope

With hands outreached, she looked to the sky, 
So cold, so dim and dreary. 
Darkness stretched on, and she wondered why. 
Why couldn't love be easy? 

She peered behind her withered frame, 
A past so bleak, so lonely. 
And then she turned to stare again 
At a future mysterious, yet empty. 

Standing on the line of endless peril, 
A tightrope that threatened to snap. 
She wondered if walking forward awhile 
Would be easier than turning back. 

So she looked to the sky, 
Watched the clouds drifting by, 
Closed her eyes as the rays broke the night. 

Orange rays of pure sunlight, 
Shone upon her, so bright, 
A rare taste of God's love and delight.

And though her past beat upon her like sticks, 
Bruising her limbs and her heart; 
She felt she could cope and get through in the end, 
And be thankful that God did His part. 

So she took a step forward on that tightrope of hers, 
Praying to God for escape. 
She continued on her journey, no longer alone, 
Knowing He carried her fate. 

Years down the road, she remembered that day, 
Where she stood on the corner of death, 
And though she wavered in fear, and hope disappeared, 
Now she could say she was blessed.

Save Me.

A haiku.

I have been smitten
With a Doctor from a box
Timelords in my brain.

I detest myself.
"Me? A Whovian? Never!"
I mocked the fandom.

I have given in.
The Doctor and Rose shall be
Ever in my mind.

I am forever
Wishing for a police box
To drop from the sky.

My mind is consumed
Save me from this addiction
Give me something new.

P.S. I have come to the conclusion that Whovians suffer the most of any other fandom.

Hands

He was not old, but his hands had done so much. They had carried much and given much. They were worn and strong.

“Give me your hand.” She said.

She held it to keep it warm,

She lightly touched the scars, swollen and red.

She was holding a hand that had weathered many a storm.

In it she saw the pain, the sadness.

She saw grief to break a mother’s heart.
Wars that would fell the best of warriors,

Death, she saw so much death.

“Why did you choose this?

Why this path, when there were others?
Why… death?” a silent tear rolled down her wind burned cheek.

“Child” said He “I chose not for me. 

I chose for you. I would not, could not, allow death to steal you from me.”

His hands closed around hers, warming the parched fingers.

“A price had to be paid,

Justice to be carried out;
In order that you need not be afraid,

That’s what love is all about.”

She traced the scar on his wrist, “Did you feel the pain?”

“Yes child.”

“Did you cry?”

“Yes.” He wiped the tears that streamed down her face.

“I don’t know what to say, I don’t know how to repay.” She trembled under his touch.

“My love, give me your eyes, so that you might see the truth.

Give me your mouth, so that you might speak faith.

Give me your heart, so that you might know love.  

Give me your hands, so that you might nourish the broken.

Give me your feet, so that you might change the world.
That is all I ask, for you to be thankful is enough.”

She held both hands now, she held both and understood.
She saw now the joy and kindness.
The love that overflowed, the peace,
She saw now the good.

His hands had gone from carpentry to a cross.

In the time in between they had changed the world.

They had healed the blind and sick, they had calmed the chaos.
They had delivered justice and admonished the wicked, 

They were the hands of a servant, a workman, a friend, a warrior, a father, a prince...
The hands that had done so much were now holding hers.

She stood in awe, “I believe and give thanks; death has been swallowed up in victory.
Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

They turned, and with a purpose, walked hand in hand towards home.

January.

Alright, I know December was ridiculously busy for us all (if yours wasn't you can have my life.)
I would encourage you to try to complete the assignment though :)

This months is a little bit easier.

A poem.
Key words, thankful and blessed.
Don't wig yourself out, poems don't have to rhyme. 


Happy New Year to you, my lovely's.

Cinserially yours,
Hannah

                                                                 Photo's to inspire...