Poems & Stories

The Grave Was Silent

blog_graveyardatnight

The iron gates creaked eerily as she entered the Valley of Shadows. Slowly descending into the haunting abyss of death, she wove through an endless sea of gravestones until she found the one that bore her name. Fighting the fear that threatened her resolve, she took the shovel in her weary hands and began to dig deep.

A veil of darkness overtook the evening sky, and thick fog blurred her vision, but she did not stop until her mission was complete and the last vestiges of her old life sealed permanently beneath the earth’s surface. Leaving her grave clothes behind and wearing the armor bestowed upon her by the King, she turned toward the dim moonlit path that would finally bring her home. But the invisible paralyzed her from moving forward.

Cold hands reached from the barren earth below, pulling her helplessly toward the grave. Struggling to break free from the grip of death, she came face to face with the corpse she had buried minutes ago. It was her mirror image, only it reeked of her old habits and selfish ways. As she clawed against earthen soil, the lively corpse fought relentlessly against her—seeking to drag her into the eternal shadows.

Though she cried for help, she was certain no one could hear—and that she was meant to fight this battle alone. Weariness set in, but just as her vision threatened to give way to impending darkness, the fog lifted and the stars illumined a cross in the distance. With her last remnants of strength, she broke free from the grip of death and ran to the cross, clinging desperately to it.

As the corpse descended from the shadows, she remembered the book the King had given her. Holding it to the light, she cried out the words from the pages: “Behold, I am a new creation—the old has gone and the new has come!” Light penetrated darkness, and the corpse let out a hideous shriek, retreating to the grave, defeated at last.

Finally free from the clutches of death, she walked the narrow path that led home. Dawn broke forth in the horizon. As she turned to say a final goodbye to her old self, the grave was silent.

 

Flash Fiction by j.e. fernandez

Photo Credit: File:Glendalough round tower and graveyard at night.jpg …

The Mirror

blog_fireasheswar is a mirror
revealing who we are
and what we will become
if we ignore hatred’s spark
and allow it to grow
to a raging flame

we pray
“deliver us from evil”
as if evil
were outside of ourselves
untouched by our minds
distant from our hearts

we pray
“deliver us from evil”
but the honest will pray
“deliver us from ourselves”

 

poetry by j.e. fernandez

Returning from War

blog_lonelysoldieri’ve waited long for your return
and yet things aren’t
as they once were
i search your eyes, only to find
you’re now a stranger
in my life…

who are you?
i don’t even recognize you…

shadows of an endless war
devour the joy
that once was yours
and veils of darkness
now consume
the light that once surrounded you

you are lost to me

what visions of battle terrorize
what relentless nightmares
haunt your life?
what ghosts of battle
forged their scars
ravaging what once was ours?

please…answer me

i walk into
your life’s abyss
and question how it came to this
for though i search
i cannot find
a whisper of what once was mine…
a fire has burned away the years
trading happiness
for tears

i must let go

i surrender
to the hands of time
relinquishing what once was mine
resolved to love you as you are—
heavy-laden,
battle-scarred…
fighting through the tears and wars
to help you find
what once was yours

 

poetry by j.e. fernandez

Photo Credit: lonelysoldier – DeviantArt

Losing Your Soul

Blog_Wolf

a ravenous wolf
devouring the weak
in a bloody race
to survive and to surpass
seeking for glory
whatever the cost

is this what you call success?

you’ve gained the whole world
while losing your soul

Source: Buried Alive

Photo Credit: Red wolf watching deer at Cades Cove – Great Smoky Mountai… | Flickr

Small World?

Blog_Ignoranceit was a world of hatred, a world of strife
where hearts grew bitter and numb to life
but ignoring the pain
the people still sang

it’s a small world, after all

multitudes lived out their lives of ease
while others were lacking their basic needs
though the poor cried in vain
all heard the refrain

it’s a small world, after all

wealthy men’s dumpsters were filled to full
while the hungry were starving outside their doors
the rich entertained
while they sang and they sang

it’s a small world, after all

humans were bound in captivity
greedy appetites funded their slavery
hungry for more,
oppressing the poor

it’s a small, small world

nations went bankrupt, destroyed by greed
though warnings poured forth, they failed to take heed
corrupted, they spent
until drowned in their debt

it’s a small world, after all

children with guns killed potential friends
reports of destruction were without end
the suffering went on
yet still, came the song

it’s a small world…after all

cultures destroyed due to race and skin
terrorists blinded by mortal sin
innocence failed
while hatred prevailed

it’s a small world, after all?

battles were fought, countless lives were lost
still, they neglected to count the cost
fighting wars uncontained
until no one remained

it’s a small, small world

 

Photo Credit: ignorance | ignorance | Z S | Flickr

Barefoot on Sunday Morning

Blog_BarefootHe came barefoot to church every Sunday morning. Unaffected by the questioning glances, he stood quietly in his ragged clothing. Emma was drawn to him, and she determined to find out why.

When service ended, Emma hurried out the doors and waited until she spotted his bare feet amidst the flood of Sunday shoes. Head down and hands in pockets, he walked toward the alley. She followed.

“Excuse me. I have something to give you.” She held out a small envelope.

He looked up, brows furrowed above his warm brown eyes.

“This is for you…so you can have some shoes to wear to church on Sundays.”

His lips curved into a smile. “You’re very kind. But, I don’t go to church on Sundays.”

Emma tilted her head and looked from him to the building and back.

“I don’t believe we’ve met. Name’s Joshua.” He held out his rugged hand.

“I’m Emma. But…I’ve seen you in church. Every Sunday.”

“Oh, the building? Yes. But if you want to see my church, follow me.”

He proceeded down the alley, and Emma followed until they came to a series of row houses surrounding a small, dusty playing field where children ran barefoot.

Joshua turned to her. “Meet me here tomorrow.”

And she did. Each day that week, Emma came to the field and watched as Joshua delivered shoes to different families. He’d spend the day making shoes and the evening passing them out. By the end of the week, many of the children were wearing brand new shoes.

Emma watched as they played. “I don’t understand. Why…”

He smiled gently as the children ran happily across the field. “I like to give all I have, and to remember all I have to be grateful for.”

The next Sunday, Emma saw one of the families from the row houses walking in to church. The mother was wearing the Sunday shoes Emma had given her; the father and their boy were wearing the shoes Joshua had given them. Emma smiled, savoring the feeling of the cold floor beneath her bare feet.

Photo Credit: File:Barefoot on red dirt.jpg – Wikimedia Commons

The Beggar

Blog_Beggarat first glance he’s just a beggar…

a blur in the background
of my immutable schedule

an unwelcome disruption
to my carefully laid plans

his greedy hands reaching out
for my hard-earned wealth

unworthy
of my well-deserved luxuries

unequal to the value
of my precious time

but when i take a closer look,
i see a mirror reflection

helpless eyes that could be mine
if hope had escaped my grasp

desperate hands that would reach out
if opportunity had eluded me

hardships i would bear
if fate had dealt me another hand

he is no beggar
he is a reminder of what can be lost

he is a messenger
of what has been forgotten

he is a friend
inviting me to find my humanity

 

Source: More than a Neighbor

Photo Credit:BEGGAR  | Street Photography © 2014 www.r… | | by richardovertoom