Blake Leitch Poems

Night Owl

It’s hard to write
from here.
And it’s hard to read
from here. (more…)

Lost

May I ever remember
hope is for the needy.
May I ever remember
love is for the forlorn.
May I ever remember
desire is for those left without.
And may I ever remember
of those, I am all.

I had fallen farther
than I knew I could.
I had turned from He
whom I had thought I’d known.
Yet when I reached out,
a hand did take my own:
the Light of Christ
my ever faithful home.

Torn

I still remember that feeling,
I still don’t know its name,
I still wish worlds were closer
than half a world away.
My heart is less than here,
but more than I ever knew;
I am more for such a life,
but myself, I’m torn in two.

Patience

Until the mountains wash away,
until the sun has lost her rays,
until tomorrow turns today,
may I remember you.

Until the waves become the rain,
until the hurt is long lost pain,
until December’s gone again,
may I remember you.

Until there’s hope material,
until there’s purpose for this soul,
’til seeming nothing is truly all,
may I remember you.

Until the heartbeat beats in time
with a ballad’s soothing rhyme,
until I feel love’s hand in mine,
may I remember you.

This

The nature of this is a complex thing.
Life hurts; physically mostly,
but sometimes more.
Limbs fall by the wayside,
a jaw slackens,
and organs work only haphazardly.

But all this is countered
in some form or another:
there is laughter in life,
a new and evolving world
picks up where I fall apart,
and the pen is increasingly digital.

Yet I fear certain things;
a certain, specific incompatibility
with the world.
An embrace is always an ability away,
and a slow dance, a close dance
was never designed for me.

Still, today the pain
is only physical.
Today, I may live
and love
and embrace and dance
through others’ arms.

Things To Do

There are textbooks to read
and essays to write,
and studies to do
so the tests are done right.

There is music to hear,
there are lessons to learn
from pain set to strings,
from lives never heard.

There are stories to read
of fantastical lands,
to make the mind reach
where life never can.

There are scriptures on which
the heart may feast,
to learn of truth
that lies underneath.

There are bridges to build
from the ash of those burned,
for a heart set free
is better than spurned.

There are patches to sew
in the fabric of life,
scars to heal over
the pains and the strife.

There are things to do
and promises to keep,
and a lifetime filled
with hills too steep;

but a lifetime full
if we’ll only see
that the love of this world
courses through you and me.

Last Call

I drank my fair share,
put away more than I can remember.
And the truth is, I miss it.
I do not regret the pact I have made
to live a sober life,
but I question it sometimes…
There were nights of smoking pipes
in the drizzling rain
while surrounded by happy friends.
Then again, there’s a certain film
I can no longer watch…
The alcohol gave for certain liberation,
took away anxieties that have
plagued my mind for years.
Then again, there’s a certain person
who wishes never to see me again…
Alcohol came with ups and downs,
but so did life.
I have many drunken regrets,
but I have many sober regrets.
And on a night like this,
downing a bottle and singing
the wrong words to Les Champs-Elysees…
It sounds quite nice, is all.