Thursday, April 8, 2010


Here I stand in the land of the poor,
Where is the exit, show me the door?
There is no escape, I hear on the wind,
You cannot go away from this terrible din.

What do you mean? How can this be?
Is there no hope? Can I not be free?
Happiness is? I cannot ask,
I am locked behind this awful mask.

Chained I am in this place of despair,
The dust, the ashes, the polluted air.
The sights and sounds crash against my mind,
And I wonder and sob and truly pine.

But then I hear singing, and laughter, and joy;
Like a happy little child with a brand new toy.
From where comes this sound in the land of the dead,
Is this really real, or just in my head?

Nay comes the answer, sweeping my frame,
It is the heart of the people, alive with refrain.
Against all odds, with a might unseen,
They lift their voices, pure and clean.

This storm of poverty circles this band,
But it fails to stop them for with bravery they stand.
Defeat rolls in like crashing waves,
But joy loves surfing when the wind misbehaves.

Grace has come to my burdened heart,
I have been given a brand new start.
I need not leave this place of gloom,
When the light is in on in my ‘soul’ room.

I learn from these dear brothers of mine,
It is not by gold that my heart is refined,
The trying of my gleaming external polish,
Only shows how much it will tarnish.

I come to you, land of the forsaken,
To find myself, wholly taken.
Brought whole again by love divine,
Finding hope in the worst of time.

To the desperate one to whom cold clings,
The bell of liberty for your heart rings.
In a place where hell itself lays claim
Faith takes hold, and grace falls like rain.

Come home my child, to the haven of rest,
You don’t need things to clutter your chest.
The simple things like golden strands,
Bind your heart and heal your hands.

Then you can reach to the sinking soul,
Give them a lift, or a gentle pull,
Up to where we live with love and grace,
As we strive together to run this race.

One day we will enter a land divine,
Together we will behold the collapse of time,
We will rejoice in the journey we have trod,
As we are helped along by a merciful God.

It will all make sense in a brand new way,
When we make it to that golden day,
And here we sing, with joy alive,
Knowing for certain by faith we’ll survive.

Alive and breathing, with not a care,
Could we hope to believe, would we dare,
These strong brothers of mine in a country bare,
Have taught me much about beauty rare.

So now I see with open eyes,
What they see when a mother cries,
Weeping lasts for only the night,
But with the dawn comes great light.

I wrote this in reflection this morning while waiting on Beth to come out of surgery. I don't want these experiences to escape me, how time flies, how fast the changes come, each tick of the clock is a reminder, the words of this poem carry Haiti's stamp on my soul. Blessings!

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