An 18 Year Old Poet

   First of all, I realize there are some dashes in 18-year-old, but it looked weird in the title, so I'm omitting them. (Poets can take certain grammatical liberties that 7th grade English teachers cannot.)

   If you read my entry about the bookcase, you know that I've been cleaning. Part of that cleaning made me get rid of my filing cabinet which has steadily been with me since I first moved to college. It's pretty organized, but I haven't sorted through any of it for a very long time. Well, when I was emptying it out I found something- sketchbook papers with poetry on them.

   Now, the first time I ever wrote poetry (not for a class assignment) was on the Church History Tour after high school graduation (June 2003). Every so often in the last 7 1/2 years I've wondered what happened to those poems, but figured I probably threw them out long ago or that they were in some box somewhere full of 'memory things' as I like to label them. Surprise! Some were with me all along! Now, I'm definitely not saying I'm a brilliant poet now (definitely not), and I definitely wasn't a brilliant poet then (most have the exact same meter). However, I am saying that it's really fun to have these to look at and remember. I know I had more because I remember vaguely writing some others, but these must have been the ones I deemed good enough to make 'final drafts' of. (They have decorative borders and are written in what I guess would have been my best handwriting at the time.) I also found a song I'd written. I didn't remember I'd ever written a song, and I didn't remember it even was a song until about halfway through the second verse when it hit me what those little marks were by each line- since I can't write music, I'd just put little dashes to indicate that the pitch went up or down relative to the last note.  haha Believe me, we should all be happy I didn't pursue a career as a songwriter. I'll happily leave that up to Ry in the family.

This is one right after I went to the Sacred Grove.

I went to where the prophet stood

I walked his very steps

And in my heart I knew the good

Brought by the Lord’s concepts

I seemed to feel his very soul

It merged intent with mine

The tempests ‘round me seemed to lull

Through sacred peace divine

I felt assured of love and grace

As well as knowledge learned,

I did not see His very face

But my heart no longer yearned

 The Holy Spirit’s loving arms

Were wrapped around so tight 

That all the worldly wealth and charms

Couldn’t touch with their fake might

This Gospel means so much to me

Faith growing each new day

That though Christ lived across the sea

He forged for me the way

My heart’s been touched by Holy Hands

The tender seed caressed

 When I walk through this sacred land

I know I have been blessed.