The Hand of Freedom Has a Scar

The Hand of Freedom Has a Scar

Bound by the chains from my choices,
I struggle with many voices
that lead me here and send me there
in search of freedom and my share
of what I’m told that is my right;
but I have no more will to fight.

From shadows dark, I start to cry
afraid to live and scared to die.
I cannot see the light of day.
Colors bright have turned to gray.
My throat is parched, I cannot speak.
I try to rise, but I’ve grown weak.

Within what feels will be my grave,
I sense a Presence come to save
into this place where I now dwell
to lift me from this pit of hell.
My eyes are blind; I cannot stand
as I reach for His scarred hand.

He hears my cry and sees my fear
and whispers to me, “I am here.”
He brings me out into the light,
restores my strength and my sight,
destroys the chains that held me bound,
and sets me on the solid ground.

Then as He looks into my face,
I’m stunned by His amazing grace.
Although I caused my own demise,
I see no rebuke in His eyes,
nor does He look on me with shame.
There is no guilt, nor any blame.

The depth of love seen on His face
dissolves my feelings of disgrace.
The freedom that so long I’d sought
had a price but can’t be bought.
Through His blood and in His name,
release from bondage finally came.

Copyright  © September 27, 2006 by Karen M. Crump 

Spring Soul Cleaning

Spring Soul Cleaning

I set about my day in random effort and isolation,

mingling in the memories of other days and former times,

I come across my past out of order in zig-zagged lines.

Soft-shelled emotions combine with edges raw or worn smooth,

depending on the fabric from which they were hewed,

some still brightly colored, others faded gray.

Not hard pressed for thinking, fragments holding sway:

catching stray thoughts rushing in then slowly ebbing away.

It’s not a loss they all don’t stay – where would I put them all;

the events, the thoughts, the laughs, the tears of all my yesterdays?

If I kept them all in baskets, where would I put today?

Baskets are better than boxes; they have nice handles to hold

to pick them up and dump their contents on the ground.

I can see, upon looking down, some fragile things are broken,

wrecked and cracked by heavy stuff thrown in on top them.

Should I weep for the crushed and mangled? 

My tears are saved for weightier things, made from stronger matters.

that have never known the soft touch of love or the hug of decay.

Lying where they were placed like rocks or lumps of hardened clay,

defiance in their being, believing they are meant to stay.

But no, today I’m off-loading, and the place where I begin

is with those rough and clumpy pieces which I’ll throw away.

Then gently aged wispy refuse will be given to the wind.

March 21, 2010 by Karen Marie Crump

Virtual Life of Dots and Lines

Virtual Life of Dots and Lines

Dots, lines and countless intersections

make for a choice in my direction.

Virtual living is laid by choice,

in birth on this earth, I had no voice.

Dot is a spot,  point of indention

angular line, a declination

from high in the sky and back to earth.

Can I know the star’s point at my birth?

Measuring time without a timepiece,

I feel the earth’s pull and sky’s release.

Days and nights are of little matter.

Time’s running feet go pitter-patter.

I look at my hand, see the life line,

wonder at the manner I incline.

Is it genes or geometric signs,

my configuration of dots and lines?

Copyright ©  May 27, 2011 by Karen M. Crump

Blue Blood Black Tie Party

Blue Blood Black Tie Party

It was a black tie occasion, where every guest was primed

to garner and render favors with profit on each mind.

Smiles were sealed like wax on faces, put in place for this time;

hands feather-weight on shoulders, voices dripping velvet lies.

Blades were buried in well dressed backs, but no one saw them shine.

Blue blood like ink was flowing, though no papers would be signed.

Music played in the background giving rhythm to the rhyme

of pretentious phrases that kissed and sealed every dotted line.

‘Power Games” was entertainment, along with “Social Climb,”

as guests were taking chances with a crooked pair of dice.

When every hand was displayed, each was betting with his life.

But when the games were over, it was only truth that died.

Shiny limousines were waiting outside all in a line

as the party goers exited waving their host goodbye.

In the safety of darkened windows, there were many sighs;

and examining of bruises and the loosening of ties.

Copyright  © January 24, 2009 by Karen M. Crump

A Boy’s Toys – a Man’s War

A Boy’s Toys – a Man’s War

He arranged his toy soldiers, standing them in a line,

fighting the sand box battles and winning every time.

Tonka tanks attacking! Rocks dropping: “Bombs Away!”

From summer sunrise to sunset, little boy at play.

The worn plastic soldiers were finally set aside,

for older boys have bigger toys in which they can ride.

His boyish face gives way to a harder look he’s refined.

Through teenage years he’s racing – winning on his mind.

He takes his place beside other soldiers in a line,

knowing soon there will be battles not won every time.

Foreign tanks attacking. Roadside bombs and more.

From summer sunrise to sunset, a brave man in war.

The years go by; another boy goes outside to play.

An old man watches fondly, thinking of other days:

soldiers in a sand box, men dying on distant shores.

He’s hoping that his grandson won’t have to go to war.

March 2010 by Karen Marie Crump

Letter to St. Patrick

Dear St. Patrick:

Please help. We need some snakes driven out of the house

It’s white and old and stands in DC.

The current resident doesn’t know

a snake from his , oh, well.

He’s the viper with his viperettes

who needs to be run out of the country.

And while you’re at it, maybe, just maybe

you could, pretty please, drive out

those snakes in the Senate and Congress.

Please come quickly and use your snake driving ability

to help us restore sanity in our govment?

Await your answer by whatever means:

letter, cell phone, e-mail, facebook, twitter or in person.

Yours,

People with a brain in the USA

America - Land of the Free!

America – Land of the Free!

Remember America when men stood to pray,

and faces glowed with tears when Old Glory waved?

There was a pride in the sacrifice of men

who gave up their all and would do it again?

The Pledge of Allegiance was said every day.

All school children knew the English words to say.

Red, white, and blue – the colors made us proud;

“God bless America!” the people said out loud.

Not the America of Obama and Reid,

nor the America of politicians’ greed,

not the America of enslavement and fear:

These are not the America which I hold dear.

Do you know America as she’s meant to be -

a country where people are born to be free?

Our fathers knew to keep government at bay;

the Constitution meant what it had to say.

“Blessings of Liberty” secure evermore,

keeping the government away from your door.

Promoting general welfare for every man,

but not giving handouts to those who demand.

Responsibility and sweat of the brow,

all men and women standing free, strong, and proud.

Personal charity to people in need,

no taxation theft by government decree.     

A free Republic, America was ordained;

a free republic she must always remain.

“We the people” - from sea to shining sea,

We must keep America the land of the free.

August 2010 by Karen Marie Crump

Constitution of the United States

“We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.”