Poetry...

Where do I go from here?
What is the purpose of now?
This process should be familiar
Just as soon as I figure out how.

Before, it was invite
It was clear and easy.
Now it is...educate?
Get married up in this heazy?

Where do I go from here?
What is the purpose of now?
These seem like they should
Be silly questions somehow.

But how should I know?
I've never done this before.
Learning to be someone new
Isn't exactly like counting 1-2-3-4

And yet, something whispers
Still yet piercing strong
"Um you have done this before.
How do you think you got this far along?"

"The process is the same,
The principle is simple.
Read the scriptures, say your prayers
And go to the temple."

But I do all these things!
I read and I pray.
What more can I do?
What else should I say?

"Remember the principle
behind these applications.
Faith, repentance, covenants
All doctrines of salvation."

So it's not just enough
To do this every day?
"Those actions weren't the reason
For the price He had to pay."



Someone suggested to me that I let my feelings out through poetry so here I go.

I've heard it said that silence is golden,
But what if I want silver instead?
I know that a moment of peace is needed,
but how do I make that peace go to my head?

Memories, images, and opinions combine
Grinding and grating against the soft tissue of my mind.
They pound against my skull,
these thoughts of mine.
Where they come from?
I still remember that first time...

It happened when a friend told me about her life.
She said she had been mistreated,
By someone who should not have caused her strife.

She didn't know how to handle it,
This pain and hurt and betrayal,
So she told it to me instead
As I hugged her near the table.

I told her it would be alright,
That's what my mommy had always said.
Then she had one last cry
before heading up to bed.

I sat there a pondered
Just how to help my friend.
I decided the best I could do
Was to continue to listen, all through the end.

Helpless to act
Desperate to try
I decided to pray
In the room just nearby

The thoughts kept on swirling
I thought I might crack
Little did I know
There was an angel on my back

This angel recorded
Every word of my prayer
And now it is in Heaven
Waiting to bless a certain pair.

The days have gone by
and that experience forgotten
but it is happening again
and my soul feels a little rotten

For I am not the same little girl
I was of old
Strong, faithful
and ever so bold.

I am a poor sinner
Weak in my sight.
My confidence shattered,
My power fled in fright.

I had forgotten the power
granted me from birth.
The power of prayer
the power that can heal hurt.

It is still there
as it was before.
I only needed to remember
And with remembering, restore.