Category: Beautifully Written

Poems and other beautiful word pieces.

Pixie in a Dirty Glass

pixie in a dirty glass

Sometimes I feel like a pixie fairy in a dirty mason glass. My wings are cramped and I’m claustrophobic; I start to become depressed and anxious. I feel as though my air is running out. I’ve been placed on a shelf high up away from everything else. Forgotten. Alone. Am I worth anything? Will I ever amount to much? Will I ever accomplish greatness? How can I, stuck in this glass? I rub the cold wall, desperate to create a little window , to see what lurks beyond this misery. But I can’t, it’s all from the outside. It’s out of my control. My world looks so dark and bleak. Unable to take it any longer, I place all my weight on the one side of the glass. I push and push and the jar starts to tilt. It’s hard work and I’m getting tired, but I keep on going. Slowly, little by little the jar lifts up on the one side, and then gravity comes along and helps me out. Down, spinning and twirling, I plunge to the cold hard cement. With a crash I hit the floor…. Am I free??

Yes! Yes I am! But my wings are torn, I have deep cuts and wounds. I cannot breathe. I cannot even enjoy the beautiful colors and sounds around me. I cry out! I regret! Oh if only I had stayed in the jar, at least I would not be so hurt and broken!! Despair fills me, I do not know where to go.

“Help me, please!”  I cry once again. And through blurry eyes I see a hand reaching out, a big gentle, calloused hand with a single scar in the center. Hope fills my soul, and I grasp a hold of it. Then the darkness surrounds me….But it’s a darkness like no other, for a warm gentle glow dwells in it, a sense of calm and peace…

I wake up resting, on a beautiful rose bed. And from my place up on a counter, I see the merciful stranger working. My eyes widen in shock, as I see thousands of jars like mine standing up on many different shelves. The man creates beautiful little places and makes sure no harm is nearby before He reaches up and takes hold of jar, opens it and releases another beautiful fairy like me. Only this one had waited patiently. Had trusted in the Unknown, the Unseen. And when her time had come, He revealed to her the beauty, the wonder, outside of her dirty glass. But as I look on, I see I was not alone in my restlessness. I see others, shoving impatiently. Jars falling and crashing. Some refuse the hand reaching out, they scramble and crawl away from the light.. they do not understand it. They fight and thrash about in the broken glass, until the life has gone out of their broken bodies. With sorrow filled eyes the man steps back and cries. A scrawny evil creature comes and devours the mess. But then, He turns back… and continues His loving work. Releasing the patient and trusting, healing the broken and remorseful. In His perfect time, showing each and every one of His children His plan.

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The Measure of a Man

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The Measure of a Man

The measure of a man cannot be confined
Within the amount of roads he travels,
Nor the quantity of the steps his feet trod.
His value cannot be concluded by his bank account,
Nor his quality in terms of success.
Rather, the constitution of a man
Is demonstrated by the tremor in his words
When spoken to an unfortunate soul.
And in the generosity in his dealings
With his temporary earthly fortunes
In light of his eternal recompense.
It is revealed in his actions
Towards societies lesser person,
And in his adamant conviction
That the former is nonexistent.
The capacity of a man is told
In his distinction between good and evil,
His earnest conquest for truth and justice,
And in his solemn acknowledgment
That the latter does not always follow the former.
It is declared in the wake of sheer willpower
When life’s adversaries threaten to snuff out his fire,
And in his immense strength and masculine ability
To face those adversaries unyielding.
His competency shines
Through a veiled heart and modest words,
Revealing an earnest desire to become
More than he’s ever been.
No, the measure of a man cannot be explained
In terms of the miles nor footsteps his feet have trod.
It can only be defined in the lope of his stride
And the fervor in his soul
As he gives his all in every battle he is faced with
Along the roads of life that he travels.

*Inspired by the thought provoking question of a coworker when he asked:
“How many roads does a man have to walk to prove he is truly a man?”*