Night Raider

A few bean plants lost their leaves in the night. A trail of dainty hoofprints led across the garden. Who, then, is the thief?

© 2009 Janalyn Voigt

My Mark

I've never met them,

These silent strangers.

They are to me but

A name on a stone -

Or no name at all,

Just a depression,

A mound of earth,

Unmarked.

They lived before me

In a younger world -

Real people sighing

Through life

Before I took on

Flesh and breath.

They're gone now -

Unremarked.

It doesn't seem fair.

They might never

Have existed at all -

For good or ill,

They came to rest here,

On this windy hill -

Forlorn,

Forgotten.

I cannot know them,

I who am living.

God alone has

Decided their fate.

I walk from the place

And leave them behind.

I must make a mark

Not written on stone.

© 2009 by Janalyn Voigt

The Truth We Told

Photo credit: gbh from morguefile.com

You were crowned in glory
Though we thought it less.
You were clothed in honor;
We mocked your nakedness.

Blood and tears ran together
Down your battered, gentle face.
We thought of it as defeat --
Your sacrifice and grace.

"Father, forgive them,"
Was your heartfelt plea.
Your love was greater
Than our enmity.

We told the truth
When we called you King,
Though we didn't know
What your death would bring.

We didn't know
When we nailed you up
That you were drinking
Our own death cup.

We didn't know
When we pierced your side
That for three days only
Would you abide

In the darkness of the tomb
To pay our fee.
Now cross, tomb and cup
Stand empty.

© 2009 by Janalyn Voigt

Nowadays

When I was young,

I sprang from my bed.

Nowadays,

I rise from the dead.

©2010 Janalyn Voigt

Singing

I listen to the rhythms of life, for within them I will sing my melody.

The Stuff of Life

We traveled long miles to see a family member confined to bed, unable to walk. She's lain there for a year now, drifting in and out of sleep, her memories ebbing and flowing. Her days have condensed to a set of DVD's played again and again, to the nurse's visits, meal time, and the view from a window where chickadees gather around a feeder. What I find annoying -- gray rain driving against the windshield and blowing into my face whenever I leave the car at rest stops -- she would probably drink in as the stuff of life.

Journey

A train passes, ratcheting, whistling in the night to transport me from my bed.

© 2009 Janalyn Voigt