Torches

As we speak, the last (I hope) proof copy of my new book is in the mail: Voiceless Choirs: Psalms, Hymns, and Spiritual Songs. I am looking forward to this book. Completing it took more hard work than I can put into words, but it took even more grace. Many of the poems only survived because of prayers: “Lord, I don’t know how to finish this,” or “Show me how to write this, Jesus.”

George MacDonald said, “Life and religion are one, or neither is anything.” MacDonald’s conviction resonates deeply with me. Voiceless Choirs is near to my heart because spirituality is the theme of every poem. Perhaps surprisingly, this added to the challenge. While I aim to mingle my life inextricably with God, He often leaves me speechless—kind of a problem when writing! Again, more prayer, and more grace.

I pray this collection will speak to readers. Today’s poem, “Torches,” is drawn from the spiritual songs section of the book, and narrates an experience I had while driving home.

Torches

As I drive through town,
my mind is a dogfight.

Memories snarl and serrate their backs.
Thoughts barrage-bark and bare teeth,
and the standoff starts into a slow spin,
circling, circling,
every move a dare,
every glance a glare,
every step a snare
in this dance of defiance,
this dalliance with dying.

Turning a corner,
fall trees flare 
on either side of the road—
oaks blaze blood,
willows weep molten gold,
vine maples burst into burnt orange—
torches whose glowing cores
pour divine sparks in arcs
that Gothic-arch over the road,
and ignite me into their vaulted ceilings
of adoring light.