Poetry

Therefore, let it be known that all of the following works were written by Jonathan McNeill on various dates. He owns the rights to all of them, and did them as a service for no one. If you would like to use any part of these works you are required by law and conscience to contact Jonathan McNeill and obtain his permission. To contact Mr. McNeill send an e-mail to finalrain@hotmail.com

I see beauty in your mourning ashes, sorrow in your night candles.
None of your tears has escaped my notice, my arms around you as you cry.
It's as if I'm invisible as I open my arms and await your grasp.

Are we playing Hide and Seek? I want you to find me, I won't run.
Are you afraid I'll see your darkness? I see no darkness here.
Didn't you hear forgiveness in my voice? I can't see your faults.

Why do you look away in shame? You have never been less than all to me.
Were you ever less than you are today? I cannot remember, I'm mesmerized by your beauty.
Where is the memory of my sorrows? When I look into your eyes I've known no pain.

My love for you is a raven, ever watching your thoughts wrestling with your brow.
My love for you is a brook, washing smooth every rough and painful surface.
My love has wings and lets me to fly to heights unknown by the eyes of man.

I seek not the seekers prize, for in my quest, I seek what none have sought before. I seek a simple Mercy, and all fulfilling grace. A quiet place by a fire were no one seeks to stay, a brief moment where all those present are soon to leave. A solitude in knowing the Master's hand upon my brow. A quiet night in which only the crickets seek audibly the Lord's ear. The cold wind at my back, and a warm fire at my fingers, a deep silent communion with my maker. I open my heart wrenchingly with tears, upon my pallid face lay sparkling streams carving dark valleys of love and memories.

sing low, chant melodies, my heart
tell stories, untold, to he who will listen
stories of every sort
stories of laughter, tears, discov'ry, and fears
love lost, found, and lost again
hate, oh yes, hate, t'would be remiss to neglect
tell those tales of regret of hours long past
and minutes not yet 'appened
tell these, the tales of every minute
tell to every soul who'll listen

Into the silence, a voice calls ... DestiNine
It beseeches us to follow, transfer grande dreams into reality
Make from the longings of our heart the very stuff of existence
Unopened, the secrets of our hearts press to be released into the open
Make this destiny, make this destiny, make this destiny, it cries
Make the stuff of dreams. Let these desires come forth, don't let them come to naught
Curse the apathy, press into the unknown and make these longings real
Open doors yet unknown, let light upon the dust-clogged corners unseen
Take the first step, and, in doing so, neglect not the ones that follow

DestiNine, make my dreams come true.

Sullen sorrow, fateful pain
Stumble daily, rise again
Cursed by friends, and healed by shame
Seldom loved, and oft disdain'd

I could scream, they make me so angry
I feel so alone, I always have, but I notice it more now
To live in pain I like to think I can bear
But surrounded by harsh enemies that should be friends I crumble

Where does lonliness live?
Inside of men like me.

As we enjoyed our day at the beach, an old man called to us, saying, "You toy with things of wonder, because you do not know what they are, but tommorrow you will stand amazed." We ignored the old man, and continued our playing. We saw the man continue on, harassing all he saw just the same. After a few hours we left, and came back the next day. As we started our games, we heard, aways off, proclaiming things we could not hear until he was nearer. "Today's the day! You'll see, its going to rain!"

We thought this absurd, seeing no clouds interupting the sky, it was perfectly blue. As the old man approached I asked Him why he thought it would rain on this sunny day, he said, without doubt, "God can do anything!" As he continued his rounds, we were amazed at this old man, and then it happened, without a cloud, it rained, it poured, drops thick as fingers hit us each, and covered the sand, and we stood, looking into the sky, amazed.

I spoke to the silence, and it left me
Graced the stillness with dance, and it was no more
Looked lovingly in darkness, and saw light appear
What we love the most leaves us when we love it
And what we have we do not love until it's gone

[This is an allegory, sort of, hehehehe]

In the woods, Kara was lost.
Leaves swirled down around her, as the tears began to pour from her face, and the sky.
In darkness we found her, from the hole we lifted her.
They say that her tears came in around her, and God added his to them.
We placed her in her mother's arms, her tears had stopped, but God's had not.
It rained for a week, and when the rain stopped, Kara got out of bed.
Or as they say in the valley, God stopped crying when Kara was well.
I asked him why he cried, and he answered:
"So many people are lost, and Kara is one of my children."
Then I cried, and I have never stopped.

Welcome to the end of yesterdays
And the morn of all our future's past
It's now, and it will not last
We're hell-bent on forgetting that all around us will not last
In our minds we attribute every item with permanence
But all of it will come apart, this earth, this metal
It will all burn, and all the hope we've placed in it will come to naught
Wait and even these roads will turn to dust
Don't lose your hope, the most real thing there is will never even fade
The love of Christ will never fade and never dim
Let everything pass away
This will stay, and never fade.

Exhaustion, Joy, I've reached it
Wonder, Awe, Who are these people?

I've been a fool I didn't realize
A man with a dollar extra, rich man

A thousand smiling faces, hundred waving hands
Empty, aching hearts, Mindless doldrums, pain

I cannot fathom the poorness of these people
How can one man have so much?

Jesus, forgive me, I've been so wrong
Do these people have the answer?

How do I share Jesus?
Please give me what you have

What can I share?
Give me your Jesus

Here is all I have, he's yours
Peace, comfort, healing, thank you

Have I done all I can?
Thank you, friend, thank you

Father, I've done my best
Thank you, Jesus, for this friend

I pray its enough, can I do more?
You've given me so much

Did I miss one? Will I ever know?
... 

Where do days go when their memories leave us?
They sit around campfires and tell their tales,
Ramble on with sappy, sad, or painful memories,
Their entertainments are just to forget their fate,
For once the Son has come, all these days shall die.

Like a house with siding, doors, and windows, but unfinished inside,
Unoccupied, and no one living inside, unfulfilled and lacking purpose,
Such is the heart of one who has not Christ.
A lived in house is constantly running down, and will one day fall,
Despite all maintenance, no matter how well loved, it will see hard times,
But in the end, and sometimes before, it is happy and content being used for what is was made for.

I waited for awhile, sang a song to pass the time, the clock seemed to move slowly as I pondered different things, half-heartedly I admitted I was getting rather bored, but I waited for awhile longer, then I started to think about the things you'd said before, I got excited, thinking, no, remembering, how much fun it was, the sound of your voice, the way you say things, all the amazing things you revealed to me, and I wasn't so bored, I re-approached you with awe and wonder, and asked again the questions I'd been to busy for you to answer, and you answered each one.

I'm stuck in a paradox, I write because the words have captured me, they draw me in, and they capture me because I write them. They are what I would look like if you put me on paper with only letters. With every letter I see, its sound fills my mind and captivates me. My soul is put on paper, you'd think that it would be confining, but it liberates me. I can see who I really am. I can understand my thoughts. Without words, I don't know who I am, and yet I often lack the words to describe what I am feeling. When you read my works, I want you to feel what I am feeling, I want you to feel that special feeling I get when I know I need to write. I want you to feel happiness the way I feel happiness, I want you to understand, and I hope that maybe you'll recognize your own feelings in this.

I heard the chant, "Be a man", so I was, I stood tall and wore a grimace on my face,
and yet the chant continued, "Be a man", so I was, I spoke harshly and was quiet,
the chant did not end, "Be a man", I took each step with a stomp, and didn't stop,
faster and louder now, "Be a man", I came upon the prophet, the Son of God,
all the louder, "Be a man", saw this timid saviour, quiet and resolute,
unceasing, "Be a man", and kneeled to him, and he picked me up and hugged me,
voices now quiet, "Be a man", I understood, a man is not what he looks like, but what is in his heart.

The tears pour and wash away my resolute anger,
I throw my strong facade far away and call on my hero to make me like him.

Do you know the place on the hill?
Do you know where the Son of God was killed?
Do you know the horror of his death, the thunder, darkness and despair?

To know that he was hung between two sinners,
To bring forgiveness to one like me.
To say without a doubt, my saviour lives today.

Have you felt the relief of forgiveness?
Or the press of sweet release?
Open wide lips of praise, and close with solemnity.

Open your heart, and make joyful sound,
Make merry this day, in him you will find,
Bitter the memory of yesteryear's riches,

Lay all else aside, all these forgotten,
Love the Son, who laid aside all for you,
And cover his feet with tears.

Stillness fills the earth and every little sound is a thousand times more important,
the little sounds scream for the attention they did not receive in the light of day,
it's at this time that I can write with ease, the words are clearer, and my mind at peace,
I can organize my thoughts, and put them on paper without the distractions of the day,
and yet the air is charged, though still calm, like my writers soul, it takes on a life of its own,
and uses ink, more ink than paper in a night sky, more tales to tell, and many already told,
we'll not reach an end of them before days cease, but I'm willing to try, I'm dying to try,
you cannot keep me from it, so I'll stay up this night, and many others, map the stars on paper and finally, perhaps, I'll dream,
As others do, and see the night from closed and sleeping eyes, and wake upon a sunny morning.

Distraction entered like a curious little man waving left and right. At first I looked because he was out of place. Then his features caught my eye, his blazing red hair and his funny laugh. I quickly found myself following the little man, trying to keep up with him as he hopped in one direction, and then another. As he increased his speed, I noticed little of my surroundings, and quickly, I must admit, I became lost. He had led me to the edge of a cliff, and jumped over, trying to lead me off.

Oh, what I fool I felt I was, distracted by little things, when things much bigger were before me. I followed after distraction like he was a priceless jewel, but dropped the prize, most important of all. Chased after folly, knowing full well the price, and now stood on precipice with no place but down to go. I'd welcome reproach, give head to warning, and call "blessing" he who disciplines. All these would I stand to know the way back. I sigh with despair, knowing that it'll take awhile to get back, rest for a moment, and begin to turn around. I hear a voice, I know who it is, and before I turn, I make this plea, "Forgive me, if you can . . ." I realize I speak in err, he can forgive anything. I turn around, and am startled, he's right there, as close as can be, and I realize, He's been chasing me!

She opened up a door. She opened up a door and stepped inside a room she'd never seen before. The room was both large and small at the same time. The room itself seemed quite old, and it's trimmings and furnishings were antique. The walls were lined with bookshelves, shelves, cabinets, and tables, all filled with queer looking curios. Some were as old as the room and others as new as yesterday. Some were tacky, others useful, some seemed especially important, while others were useless. There were tools, toys, theater masks and props. The room was filled with every imaginable and unimaginable object. The musky sent of old and the plastic smell of new mixed uncomfortably as she took note of everything. Where do I start, what should I try first? Then she saw at the highest place in the room a little shelf, too high for her to see over. She took an old leather cushioned chair and moved it over to the shelf, and climbed on it. The shelf was very humble, hand hewn, not even varnished. It was covered with dust and cobwebs, and seemed altogether forgotten. She peered over the edge and saw a little wooden object, two inches tall. She brought it close to her eye to make out detail. Not as old as the room, not as new as anything recently placed there, but she knew it was the most special thing in all the room. The cross, everything else was worthless compared to it. It didn't cost any money, but it cost the life of God. The precious blood of the Saviour, Jesus Christ.

I feel I'm constantly fighting friend and foe, on one side my greatest ally, on the other my greatest enemy. How I started on this futile path, I do not know. When did I start fighting my friend, and which one is he? I'm being worn down in a battle I cannot win. Those I am fighting, I fear and dread, but I know one is my friend. Oh, to put down my swords, and let down my guard, I know one will protect me. I know which one, the one who isn't fighting me. I can look into his eyes and get lost, they are so deep. I could drop a measure through and never reach the bottom of his love. Father, why do I fight you? Why do I attack you, and defend from attacks that will never come. I see your wide open arms, drop my sword and run inside. You shield me from every attack, and your voice gives me peace. Your heartbeat like steady thunder, your strength like mountains, your breath the fresh wind from a morning mountain. Slowly the lights go out, I fall asleep, and awake in a dreamer's paradise, beneath your loving eyes. Don't wake me, don't disturb my peace, I never want to leave.

What with the clouds covering the hazy purple sunset sky, and the moaning cars screaming past, you can hardly tell it's almost dark. They've nearly fooled us into thinking that it is dark. We still have an incredible hope as we walk, varying in pace and speed, along the path. Will this next turn have us within sight distance of our goal, or will our savior meet us along the way? Either way, we hope and pray for that wonderful moment every day. Let us see our Salvation's Eyes, and feel his arms around us, and may we then go to our home with him, and forget all but what He's done. No more Sunsets, the Son has risen, and soon we'll be in his arms.

Well, with everyone saying it can't be done,
and those who fight you have already won,
take this moment to realize that with one more infinitely small space of time,
God can take it all, change the rules, and make it rhyme,
and when he does, just hope to see it close up,
you won't understand, not fully, you can't,
and when we meet our final natural day,
and all our life and its joys and pains we've passed with that last hill,
two things to remember: It doesn't take a man to kill,
and only God can give life, he's given me a good one,
and like Isaac I will lean on my staff, that tells of all my life,
and I will worship he who gave me life.

These are our future martyrs and saints of tomorrow's Rome.
When will we learn to give them water in our Saviour's Name?
Bless these little children, sit them on our laps and tell of all our future home.
Will these familiar faces, when are saved by grace, look still the same?

Far away, and by no means well known, that's what you are to me.
There's a certain smile I've seen you give, that draws me to you.
That smile captures my every desire, my words are not enough.
If I could know you through a smile, if I could give you part of what your smile has given me,
If I could do that, would you and I be we?
If the world stopped while I looked into your eyes, I would not know.
I would never know loneliness again.

The gentle curves of your lips entrance me, your eyes lock my sight to yours.
And this only in passing, I've never felt like that before.
If I knew the immediate outcome, I'd chase you in a second.
I fear, you'd fade like a flower in my presence, and I'd lose you.
Lose you and break my heart and my life crumble around my feet.
It's foolishness to think it'd happen, but how am I to start?
A runner knows to start at the sound of the gun, but I don't even know the way to go.

What could I say to you, and how to say it?
What have I in common with you, oh gentle rose of Eden?
How is an insect like a queen, and what would one say to the other?
Is my heart plain to see, or have I hidden it too well?
I want to know you, but I fear the steps to take.
I've said hello, the first step was too easy, what should I do next?
If only it was easier to act than to simply watch and dream.