Saturday, January 28, 2012


My future is sitting on my desk,
passively staring at me as if wondering how it came to be,
and when did it take this form. I want to tell it,
that it was destiny, that it was inevitably made in this image
by God or science or the environment, or any higher power really.
But that would be a lie: a terrible, terrible fabrication.
Because that is all this placid future is; a plasticine invention
that I formed with thick and scarred hands, clumsily constructing an image
I happened upon in a dream, or a dream within a dream.

It has changed many times since its inception,
mis manos have refined it, cleaning the edges, creating greater detail, molding the contours.
And I have stared at it for so long, I began to believe
In my own fabrication, in this melting plasticine figure.
And now I need to remold it, into a brick for now,
Because I cannot make my future with these weak hands and this malleable substance,
Only metal, and stronger hands than mine,
can bend and shape a solid future.

The inspiration for this poems comes from a hunk of plasticine on my desk that I have been playing around with and molding into all sorts of things. I was thinking about how we try to shape the future into what we want rather than what is real or what God wants. We try to take control and pretend that we have all the power, but at the end of the day we are weak. I am weak. I am not afraid to say that, because in Christ our weakness becomes strength. He has control, even when we think that we do. I thank God for that and I want to trust in Him more and more. I need to keep running the race, doing my best, opening up new roads, but at the same time I need to listen to Him for all things, and allow Him to close doors when they need to be shut rather than to try to pry them open and force my will.

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