Healing

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You likely do not realize
that I think of you each day,
and I make mention of you to my God
every time I pray.

I’ve never given up my dreams
that you’ll see a bright new dawn.
I want to give you some things, if you’ll hear,
to meditate upon:

We all fall down, everyone,
but the strong get up again.
They say that you can’t keep a good man down,
but, hey, there’s broken men.

I see, in you, a man of strength;
I don’t care what others think.
I’ve known you since you were a little boy
and their opinions stink.

You’re going to get passed the pain
that yesterday left for you.
I was there. Remember? I know you will,
‘cause I’m a strong one too.

Let’s take a long, slow walk through life;
Gather your courage and fight.
Today’s the day you wake up to the sun --
the end of blackest night.
© Joyce Pool

Written this 8th day of January, 2005, for my brother, Jason, who is in the process of getting "well" during a six months stay at the Salvation Army's rehabilitation center in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma-- the day before his 37th birthday. Please take a second to strengthen him in prayer. Thanks. God bless you, in the blessed name of Jesus. Love, Treava

I have never considered a time to be appropriate for posting the following poem, at this particular site, simply because there is nothing in it that lifts the name of our wonderful Savior. But I think it is appropriate right now, just because it defines the battles Jason fights.

Please take his two sons, Jason Jr. and Jacob, into consideration when you pray as well. Warning! The following poem is very harsh! I wouldn't begin to rate it as "Christian" poetry. But it's reality that a lot of Christians refuse to look at. There's hope for ALL men... and women for that matter, including my two nephews' mother.

Nana's Boys

She was the center of attention,
spoiled rotten to her own destruction.
It's hard to place blame,
To give this crisis a name,
Or to plead with deaf ears good instruction.

She's ruined.

The world wouldn't give her what Mommy did.
And now, even Mommy let her down.
She searches far and wide
to be a spoiled rotten bride
while, cell by cell, she crumbles to the ground.

She's worthless.

Like any irresponsible, troubled teen,
He blamed everyone but himself,
So they put him away
to become more harsh each day,
Now he fades like a ghost shoved to a shelf.

He's ghostly.

He blindly took for himself the worthless bride.
And lost what could have been his grace --
His two little boys
being ruined by the same noise
that creased their worthless mother's face.

He's fading.

Farther and farther into the pit, she falls;
Her icy needle is her best friend.
A junkie with no shame,
carrying a beast she can't tame,
she's much too spoiled for a razored end.

She's an ice addict.

He gets tired of her deceitfulness,
Though he's as guilty as his bride.
He's as cold as the ice
in her bumping device
and far too proud to admit that he's cried.

He's sleeping.

It sure gets cold under iced wedding arches.
They are the cracks in each other's back.
They can erase none of the past --
Neither ice tracks, nor glass.
Mommy, give the fat boys another snack.

They're Nana's boys.
© Summer 2004 by Joyce Pool

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