"Echoes"

We are God’s fingerprints
And of fingerprints, they tell us no two are alike
(God must have many fingers).
I scream to the world, to you,
a rant of humanity –
love, despair, hope, deepest longing –
you understand me, and my soul is soothed.
Funny how, though we fight for our individuality
our originality, our singularity
what we really want to know
is when we scream into the night
that what comes back
are not
echoes.

An Untitled Poem

I recently submitted a slew of poetry to Connections Literary Magazine, a local literary magazine published by my college. It occurred to me after I submitted that I loved every poem equally, so I honestly couldn't guess which one they might choose. One was selected, but since I love them all, I thought I'd post the "runners up" here :). If anyone is interested in coming to see/hear me read the poem that was selected, details for the reading are on the Connections website.

Far away, an earthly rhythm, one that stirs the heart
to thoughts of You, pulses beneath the sky.
The ancient music-makers –
the harp, the flute, the fiddle –
all seem to be one, in accord
with Your perfect holiness.
Perhaps that’s why the music of such beauty breaks our hearts
reminds us of what we lost, tossed aside in pursuit of temporal lusts.
We raise our voices, fit our lips to divine sound
and our fingers to the instruments
and fall short,
our souls longing for the heavenly, ne’er ending music,
for home,
and that we, too, as Your instruments,
might be tuned to Your heart.