Poetry

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Trophies

I have lost many trophies over the years,
Pieces of me given without a care
Lent, lost or stolen,
Leaving it’s place empty.

A boy named Whitie.
A reputation left shadowed.
The young man who was not the son
The Senior thought him to be
He took the sun from me.

My grandmother’s quilt,
And much more,
The Promises broken.
Preacher man and a ruby ring
Engraved with my name.

These all and much more
Were trophies
Taken or given, by me.
And returned many
With scars
And names; without honor.

Not born to royal roots
No gifts to freely give.
Hatched!
In moments of selfish passion.
The fleshly reminder
That once bitten fruit will bring.

In torment from whispers
By something that slithers.
Cursed by one
And through the comatose nature
Of another...Defiled!

Trophies taken scars remain.

But what of this one who asks of crowns to be cast.
I have no trophies left to give.
Where would I find such riches?
Not in my impoverished soul.

Wrap myself in darkness and death
I can.
Enter into Your sorrows
I will.
Bear beatings, cursing
I have.

But, ask me to share in Your resurrection…. How?
Seated with you in throne rooms on high,
Oh, help me Lord!
I know how to suffer.

Suffer loss.
Have things taken,
Or given away.

How do I rejoice in Your victories as though they were mine?
How do I open my hands for the trophy you have for me?

Receive a crown?
A scepter,
Or princes robe?

How do I trust in Your gifts to me?
Uncurl my empty fingers and wear Your rings?
How might I be trusted not to lose them?
How do I keep from my former silliness? How?

Oh, generous You are;
Though I protest
“Thank you, I’ll hide them!”
“Just for safekeeping”.

“NO”!
You are stern and firm.

‘Wouldn’t it be better in a display window,'
'On a mannequin or a catalog, but not on me.
'I am not a model; more leprous am I.'

‘Won’t I bring You embarrassment',
'Shame...causing others to laugh instead?'
'Why me’?
‘Choose another.'

Little by little exchanging costume and pewter
For bright and shiny and worth
And price.
Price of obedience,
Cost of trust.

Something of value
Made valuable by You.
Counted cost
I choose to pay.

A crown of life
In such fine gold;
Inlaid with rubies rich in peace,
Settings of diamonds
In facets of joy.

I want this crown
Not for me
But to give.

The trophy.
One that belongs to me,
No one can take.

Toss it in a heap
With the others round Your feet.

telkissinger

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