The Poet

he
sees
not seeing
but touched
by vacant stares
dying
and birthing yet another child
begging to write about your pitch
cold days and lit up nights
’tis subtle apathy
that smiles
louder
than the screams
that no one hears except
his pen
which stabs again
and again the spleen
and starts the fight
that no one
feels

in and out
his pen does stab
to stop the bleeding
heart
hold fast
don’t freeze
love needs
you
to need
one who feels
and has felt
deeply
the hell that melts
the molten
stares
still dying
and birthing
yet another
child
.
.
.

Petra O. Hefner

“There is nothing harder than the softness of indifference.” Juan Montalvo

Scripture

His Own

Necessity yearned
for expression
in waiting
stillness
never still
only soundless
like a song deeply felt
tightly held
yet free
beneath
all anticipation
yet above all things
intense
swelling
like laughter
or a scream
at birth
ever beginning
and never-ending
waves of wisdom rupture
sudden sight pierces
walls
of hollow holes
bold as diamonds
grave as coals
first
light
at last
splitting the skies
spewing forth faultless
fingers
exposing
all
glory
to
glory
as the word gave his word
and walked from his garden
through his gate
guarded
by his own
flaming swords
to his hill
to fulfill
his perfect will
executing
his very own
p
r
o
m
i
s
e

Petra O. Hefner

“You can begin as if nothing had ever gone wrong. White as snow.” ― C.S. Lewis

Scripture 

Dry Lips

Those who advocate truth
may not be free
to speak
but bloated
steeped in honey-dipped verbosity
and bound
by their own rightness
having lost not self
(as was hoped)
but the keys
while making love
hate all
opposition
to what the fingers of the little will
must hold onto
too tightly
too willfully
too accurately too
that even the days drop
denser shadows
darker even
than black
oil slicks
slipping
into moonless nights
glossy as true light
yet reflecting nothing
but their own spry spittle
no longer warm and tender
like the first morning
speaking
grace
growing life
out of dust
and love
out of wrath
to confuse the night
and to condemn
all
condemnation
but not these
bent reeds
and smold’ring wicks
quenched and crushed
by words
not sent by Him
flameless flames speaking
so shamelessly sharp
that their hearers’ ears are left to lie
severed and bleeding
on the side of life
growing deaf and blind
and dry
lips
move
without any
tenderness to hush
and to comprehend whatsoever
is honorable and true
righteous and pure
praiseworthy
precious
deeds
of glory
and much
praise

pray

that I would
hush
and meditate
on these

please!

Petra O. Hefner

“Truth lies in character. Christ did not simply speak the truth; he was truth; truth, through and through…” – Frederick W. Robertson

“I would rather play with forked lightning… than speak a reckless word against any servant of Christ, or idly repeat the slanderous darts which thousands of Christian are hurling on others.” – A.B. Simpson

 

Scripture