by Carol Brinneman
A prism sitting on the sill,
A teardrop chiseled into glass,
A beautiful image to fill
My teary eyes, remembering
Past facets of my life
All but disappeared.
A prism? A prison!
Seemingly for me...
Then I lift it up and
hang it from a string.
As sunlight beams pierce
The cold and jagged cuts,
Out splash tears of light,
Not white,
But rainbow hues prancing,
Bringing multi-hued promises
of God’s faithfulness,
Splashing, splashing
Into my heart
Hope; a covenant of healing
and redemption are ever afloat!
God sees His rainbow even as
it dances on my bedroom walls—
And will not forget.
November 15, 1994
by Carol Brinneman
Plink. Plink. Plink.
Celestial drops splashing,
Rendered precious quashing,
Quenching parchèd palates.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Crimson globules oozing,
Rendered priceless cruising,
Saving sickened systems.
Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.
Oxygen molecules rushing,
Rendered miraculous hushing,
Energizing ebbing existence.
Father, Son, Holy Spirit,
Rain on me. Reign over me.
Transfuse me. Infuse me.
Respire me. Resuscitate me.
Lest I die.
July 30, 2002
by Carol Brinneman
Crunching through maple leaves,
I peer up at trees
In bursts of sunlight,
Glorious in their hues:
Yellow and purple, orange and red!
In the midst of being sapped
They know they soon will willingly stand
Stripped and naked in the cold.
Yet with thin arms determined to stretch upward
In praise to their Maker.
The leaves, splashes of a vibrant past,
Are freely shed.
For soon, with cupped hands, the needy will draw on a sap
Made wonderfully sweet and delicious—
The product of weakness, pain, time and obedience—
A balm to those desperate for energy and healing.
*sap : any fluid vital to the life or health of an organism; vigor, vitality
November 5, 1997
by Carol Brinneman
Tired, so tired...
The delicate thousand fingers of the trees
Gently massage my spirit.
Lightly swaying,
Calming the tenseness of my soul.
The breeze relieves my brain’s tight-fisted clench on life.
Sunshine swells in a crescendo of healing balm
To a battered body crying for release from fatigue’s demonic clutches.
“He makes me to lie down in green pastures ... He restores my soul”
Psalm 23: 2, 3.
April 28, 1996