I’ve been sharing some poems I recently found from a stash I wrote in 2008. These poems were written at a time when I was stressed out from two new things in my life: I was having some “birth pangs” at being a newly-ordained pastor, and I was also anxious about the upcoming birth of my first child. Here’s the last normal one I’ll share. Tomorrow I’ll share a bonus…a pretty bizarre unfinished one.

Yoke

I turn to the people
For answers and hope
They point to the steeple
And call me the pope
I’m paid by the church
A grand and a half
To lead the new search
For the sacrificed calf

I thought seeking him
Was what I must be
The search isn’t for you
It was always for me

I gave up on the Lord
But never could tell him
I wrote with a sword
On fragments of vellum
I burned out the candle
The wax on the floor
I mourned at the scandal
Of sackcloth I tore

I thought seeking him
Was what I must be
The search isn’t for you
It was always for me

I prayed for this mission
I wanted the yoke
But children will tell you
A tight collar will choke
I preach about babies
Because that’s what I dread
I reach out for maybes
Alone in my head

I thought seeking him
Was what I must be
The search isn’t for you
It was always for me