Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: faith

  • Prose: A Visit – 13/05/21

    Prose: A Visit – 13/05/21

    The sky is pink, grey and blue today, wisps of cotton candy and woollen clouds. I watch as First Light dawns upon me, the day awakens, and I cherish it, awaiting more. What is this fluffy entity which now travels towards my face? This countenance and structure so lovely, perfection, in a way?

    It morphs slightly as it travels, altering size, shape, and form, one moment it’s obscure and barely recognisable, then the next, clearer and pure.

    I won’t say what I suspect these clouds have become, I feel it’s not my place to share, but I will acknowledge its sacredness, of this I have become more and most aware. A benevolent entity travelled unto me, blessing and guiding with his presence, and now my being is vibrant, I am invigorated, then suddenly well-spent.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Image by LevaNevsky from Pixabay

    Previous Post: ‘A Trail of Winding Thoughts’ – 12/05/21

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  • Poem: Drifting – 19/02/20

    Poem: Drifting – 19/02/20

    I float above the surface,
Like a piece of driftwood, an otter, a daring platypus,
I rise to the challenge,
God, you know I’m here listening for you like I should.
 
I’ve risen to the moment,
Where I can drift along the water,
Towards the shore,
Certain in myself that this path I’m undertaking
Is finally the right one,
And it’ll be eternal,
Not blunted or short.
 
I will seek the advice of the angels within my life,
The living beings,
Brought forth to assist me,
They have gathered around my dying body many a time
And arisen I have become, always been,
Perhaps I have been blessed by someone divine.
 
I have always been saved,
From the damage of my hand or by others’ wicked ways,
And I thank you, dear Father,
Because of your divine intervention,
Seamless and true,
Without sight of stitch nor glue,
You, are the correct path,
I must herald myself unto.
 
With my guides and my angels
Perhaps I’ll find the right avenues to take,
To this blessed acceptance and awakening
And acknowledgement,
The three A’s,
Cast aside is the need for attention,
I’m now happily quiet within myself,
I need not their eyes staring or voices blatant calling,
I’ve been through that long ago.
 
But this decision I have made,
I have not made it lightly,
And I trust,
I do trust,
That I will traverse the journey wholly.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Jana from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Nowhere Woman – 16/02/20

    Poem: Nowhere Woman – 16/02/20

    I’ve been lost for so many years,
hidden in the recesses of the wilderness
and I don’t know which way is out.
I'm unsure of how to escape this listless, pointless path without direction,
without a propelling sense of purpose.
 
I once was utterly focused,
I wanted to be something,
make something of myself,
and now I don’t know where to turn,
to a person, to pen to paper, to God?
Is He really there for me?
 
I feel silly as I sit here and address 
the benevolent being up above,
thanking Him for that which remains,
my blessings in life,
the goodness,
through my gratitude,
but all I can manage is to bawl and bawl,
tears helplessly fall,
and I cannot, for the life of me,
stop,
I don’t want to stop.
I desire change.
 
I ache for it,
I yearn for it,
a nowhere person I’ve been,
life is stagnant,
no longer flighty,
and I surmise pieces of my puzzle can be adjusted 
one piece at a time,
but I am covered with soap suds,
my fingers slip,
I’m trying to unnecessarily cleanse while rebuilding a life.
 
How difficult must it be to isolate my innermost thoughts
when I struggle to comprehend them, let alone articulate them?
It's been suggested I search for Him up above,
to reconnect, to recreate
a bond of acceptance, gratitude, and I suppose
acceptance of His undying love,
but its been so long, how can I trust,
and place my life and sufferings into another’s open hands?
 
The tears continue to fall,
it’s ironic –
you’ll rarely see me cry.  
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Disbelieving – 23/09/19

    Poem: Disbelieving – 23/09/19

     “Come to me,” he says, beckoning to the crowd.
     A creature with wide ears, open arms 
     and dreadfully hairy legs
     dressed in an Aztec-inspired poncho.
      
     “I have the answers to all your problems,” he promises.
     With a wave of his arms around the scene
     his eyes implore
     beg them to take it in.
      
     “See this land upon which we stand? 
     My creator, your creator
     built it grain by grain, sand and soil, compacted up and up 
     with his bare hands.”
      
     “But where is he now?” one witness calls.
     “Where is the proof of his promise to be here now?” another sneers,
     while the rest of the crowd starts to jeer.
      
     “I am here before you, 
     my words are here to ring true,
     the knowledge that all is repairable, 
     true faith will guide you through.”
      
     Still the crowd jeers, 
     how could this creature presenting himself to them
     be the one who was to preach and provide their lives’ stability,
     goodness and truth, acceptance, forgiveness and love
     these could easily be dismissed or 
     overthrown by a naïve or ignorant point of view.
      
     He attempts to speak once more,
     Explaining his role in this scene, to share pertinent truths
     not provide the others with personal gain and materialistic objects,
     yet the jeering turns into boisterous booing —
     it pains his heart to know that disbelieving unknowing beings like this existed. 
      
     So, the creature in a poncho turns his back,
     forsaking the bombastic disbelieving crowd
     who refuses to know more, existing on their meagre understanding 
     rather than accepting the notion that they are indeed already blessed and loved.
      
     This creature was a selected precious vessel chosen to spread the word of goodness,
     there was many before him and would be many after him,
     yet it is with despair that he accepts the knowledge that once again
     another select group of humans were not ready to hear the words and view his soul
     which he had dared to bare.  
      
     Perhaps in the next lifetime, he tells himself,
     as he drags his feet as he walks away.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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