My Soul Expresses, “He Is Worthy!”

[Note to Dr. WEC: This is NOT your poem.  This is a different one.  Just sayin’.]

 

My soul sings. 

It sings holy, holy, holy are you God.  My soul sings when I’m quiet or when I’m thinking and I nod.  It sings with or without music, but I take the opportunities of being alone in the car when I’m going somewhere to sing.   A made-up melody and song that usually rhymes I voice for my King. 

It’s because he is worthy. 

Sometimes I sing when I’m talking to myself, singing to myself instead.  It’s more fun to sing and rhyme than vocalize what is simply said.  I sing when I’m happy; I sing when I’m sad.  I sing about everything, even though it might sound bad. 

 

I write from the outpouring of my soul. 

When there’s so much to process, to say, and to hear?  Writing is a way I can see it clear.  I write when I’m thinking or sad or pleased.  I write stories and poems and mercilessly I tease.  What would it be like if I was super serious all the time?  Boring, I say, and it’s FUN to rhyme! 

It’s because he is worthy. 

Whatever I write, I want it to be for God’s glory.  He is what matters, so let everyone hear his story!  If somebody can take one thing away from what I write, then it’s all worth it, every blog outright. 

 

But sometimes I get in the way. 

It’s not all bad, I’d say. 

My humor adds a little something.

‘Cuz when I’m writing, I want God’s voice to ring.

But I write and I sing and play music and whatever. 

It’s because he is worthy, and super clever. 

 

//

Music and My Soul

Music is a feeling, and it has become a part of me.

I live in different modes and play in different keys.

Though my song started out in a simple major mode,

Since I can remember, I’ve dabbled in a minor code.

The dissonance and tension are pleasing to my ear.

The mysterious and dramatic are fascinating to hear.

 

Could it be?

Could these feelings be a part of me?

The complexity of the music builds with my years.

The major and minor coincide, sometimes mixed with tears.

Detected in the music is struggle.

But it is beautiful.

 

The sighs of the song express my soul.

The music moves when words can’t be told.

There are common motifs that appear throughout the piece.

The tempo, dynamic, and rhythms increase.

There is a motive I don’t want to hear.

When it comes I tell it “You don’t belong here!”

 

Through the music alone it can communicate.

I won’t let it pass through consciousness’s sub-state.

Every so often it appears through my writing.

But that is rare, and when it does get out it’s fighting.

I don’t like to talk about it out loud.

In my mind, those feelings shouldn’t be allowed.

 

I can’t put into words the rest of my thought’s dealings.

I was asked to write a poem about my deeper existing feelings.

So I sit down at my keyboard and I start to play.

I start with a catchy major melody, then I change.

I shift into the relative minor, playing slowly at first.

Then I play louder and faster, in a slowly erupting burst.

 

I play with i-VI-VII-i, each verse a little different.

When I’m playing the feelings are let out, not belligerent.

As I play, I begin to hear the thoughts.

I begin to decipher the hidden plots.

There is anger there, and loneliness and lies.

I have been afraid to face them, those feelings in disguise.

 

I am angry that I have MS and that I am limited so.

I am angry that so many people can do so much, and they don’t even know.

I am angry that I feel so alone with this.

The fact that no one understands and I feel diminished.

I am angry that I have to take so much extra care.

It’s been trial and error, I am constantly aware.

 

So many lies attack when I let the MS overwhelm.

Against it I feel powerless, it is the helm.

I feel defeated and helpless, where is hope?

There are things that I can do—but not mope!

I can never see the effects of my proactive-ness.

At least not soon enough, which leads to distress.

 

Whenever I’m in a bad mood, I need to lift up my eyes.

Slowly and softly, the melody slows, the major mode is revised.

I am weary of this disease that I’ve had almost a decade.

I’ve tried to deal, but I just ignore because I’m afraid.

I can’t do it by myself, I need my Lord.

He is my help and salvation, my rock and sword.

 

As I continue to play, I start to smile.

The beauty of this song makes everything worthwhile.

 

Written 3-24-13, Anna Olson [As a note, I played piano a lot in the process of writing this.  It repeats some things that I’ve said in other poems and posts, but it is real and it is there!]