NoMoreDeadlyDoing – Learning to live by grace, not striving.

Category: Poems

This is where I will share some of my poems.

  • The Small Deaths

    Each breath will mirror the last,
    exhaled into nothing—
    into death like the past,
    sacrificed to become
    what alone could last.

    And many more to come—
    little last gasps for air,
    for control.
    They sacrifice every care—
    leeches of life
    that cling to the soul.
    They take until
    they swallow me whole.

    They follow me everywhere;
    I run away,
    yet still find them there.

    What falls away
    was never fit for the task.
    And good riddance—be gone,
    you lingered far too long,
    stealing my focus
    from the important tasks.
    For what now is right,
    you would have kept wrong.
    So I surrendered my fight
    for a worship song.

    Search my heart,
    and remove what doesn’t serve You.
    Tear it away—
    run a spear straight through.
    Do not leave behind
    what cannot be reproved,
    nor anything that keeps
    me from what
    You’d call me to do.

    When my eyes close
    for the final rest,
    may my life return
    to Your precious breath.
    When my soul departs,
    may all the small deaths
    that came before
    have prepared me
    to praise You more—

    to strive after holiness,
    as only You can be;
    to be raised up,
    and to know You
    as the waves
    know the sea;

    to be made whole,
    now and for eternity.

  • All of These Treasures

    All of these treasures
    buried with me in the tomb
    gave way to robbers,
    leaving only rotten fumes.

    The hoarded delight
    once stole my might,
    and traded it for wisdom
    seen only in hindsight.

    Oh, what a wretched man
    I have been.
    Oh, that I found
    delight in my sin.

    Is this heart too
    late to mend?
    Or can the bruises
    further rend—
    pulling apart
    the poison
    from the heart?

    I stand above
    these empty things—
    and this is what I fought?

    My hands were full
    of useless glitter,
    and while I filled them,
    my soul did wither.

    Like the garden,
    the snake still slithers,
    and I listened
    to his whispers.

    But now the heel
    has crushed the head.
    I am alive,
    though I was dead.

    I see I made my bed,
    surrounded by
    all of these shiny things.
    Yet still You gave me another,
    and removed the pain—
    for now I lose the world,
    and count it as gain.

    The eyes deceive
    based on what
    the heart desires.
    Though they seem harmless,
    many pretty things
    lead to fire.

    My own faculties conspired
    against my soul,
    but surrender
    to my Savior
    was the only thing
    that made me whole.

    And now He gives
    many beautiful treasures—
    but none of them
    are meant to be the goal.
    No, that is left
    for only His glory to behold:
    to seek only Him
    in all things—
    I’ll no longer buy
    the lie they sold.

  • Temple of Dust

    How can I contain
    Your perfection within
    this flawed husk?
    Why have You poured
    so much love
    into one formed from dust—
    one who will return
    to dirt again?

    Why would You desire
    to call me a friend,
    when after You created me,
    I bit Your hand?
    And even more,
    to call me kin.
    I was lost,
    I spoke heresy—
    still, You waited;
    lost in the dark,
    You illuminated.

    My bones are made
    of lesser material,
    yet You breathe in me
    the spiritual—
    joining the marrow,
    creating a miracle.
    I deny the flesh,
    but cannot bear
    my cross alone.
    It slips and falls each day,
    crushes me, rolls,
    and seals the stone
    that only You remove.
    Yet faith grows stronger
    as I obey
    and You reprove.

    My failures are not
    failures at all—
    You pick me up
    each time I fall.
    You whispered,
    You waited;
    I believed once,
    then hesitated.
    Now I never will again—
    for falling short
    was, and is,
    Your way in.

    May chaos mold me,
    may suffering refine.
    May You shine through,
    and I resign.
    May there be less of me
    and more of You.
    May I silence my voice
    so Yours rings true.
    May intuition
    receive Your vision—
    until holiness
    is the only path.
    Make a temple
    from this pile of dust,
    that will for eternity last.

  • The Dragons I Once Sought to Slay

    The dragons I
    once sought to slay
    have changed their title,
    but not their embrace.

    I used to die
    for just a taste—
    and now I deny myself
    to loosen their grip,
    so I won’t give in
    when I slip.

    Their teeth look
    different now,
    and it’s strange how
    they smile at me
    the same.
    Behind them still burns
    a flame—
    not a force to tame,
    but one to avoid.

    Burn the wound,
    let it keloid;
    try not to
    open it again.
    The devil’s smooth—
    but never my friend.

    The pride feels
    different now;
    it arrives as
    righteousness abounds.
    Yet it steals my joy—
    because it takes away Yours.

    Though they did not
    die by my sword,
    they surround me
    no more.
    They submit not
    to me,
    but to the One
    I serve;
    they quickly flee.

    For no beast
    can contend
    with the mercy
    of my Lord.
    When they blew
    their fire,
    it only refined me—
    while He restored.

  • The Sickness Within: Self-Reliance

    There’s a sickness
    that lives inside.
    It doesn’t only want
    to gain wisdom,
    but to be
    known as wise—
    the quiet defilement
    of humility denied.

    I catch myself
    on the edge
    of this descent
    far too often.
    By some miracle,
    I pray my awareness softens
    what I deserve—
    and after repentance,
    that it does not return.

    Yet here I am again,
    holding hands with pride
    as if it were my friend,
    wounding my true companions.
    For they could see
    that I made myself a fool.
    I opened my mouth,
    though my eyes
    were covered with wool.

    The blood rushed
    to my head,
    and instead of pride,
    anger erupted in its stead.
    Is this innate,
    or simply what I’ve fed?
    Is it too late,
    or have I made my bed?

    No—this cannot be true.
    Because though I slip,
    I return to You.
    Though my words defile,
    You still renew.
    The shame of the past
    glorifies the sanctified present.
    Sin rose ten times,
    but my knee bent eleven.

    My flaws reveal
    what You refine;
    the fire is quenched
    by Bread and Wine,
    the Word and Spirit intertwined—
    and quickly they remind
    that I was never created equal
    to the Divine.

    And through my weakness
    is how I find
    that the need for salvation
    required seeing the fault
    to which my will inclined.
    And though I see it again,
    I know now—willpower
    is not a friend.

    For only refuge
    in my High Tower
    removes the cancer
    and brings
    my miserable self-reliance
    to an end.

  • Monsters I Forgot

    When I was young,
    I believed in monsters.
    As I grew older,
    I left those fables behind.
    I lived in misery for many years,
    and only in hindsight did I find—
    I stopped fearing the monsters in my closet,
    the ones beneath the bed,
    the ones that come in the night—
    but I forgot the ones in my head.

    In my ignorance,
    I did their bidding—
    the fears and desires
    that traded lies
    for what is true.
    The real reason
    they tortured me so
    is that the One I truly forgot
    was You.

    When I was young,
    I might have been
    wiser than I knew.
    I feared the dark
    as if it’s where evil grew.
    There are monsters—
    and they unwittingly
    shaped me into one
    trying to survive,
    while denying why
    the nails
    were driven through.