Writing Again

Writing again.

I’m meeting you in this place

Where words fill up blank space.

Set me on fire.

By Samantha Lindholm

Written February 9th, 2012

My Valentine

"As an apple tree among the trees of the forest, 

   so is my beloved among the young men.
With great delight I sat in his shadow,
   and his fruit was sweet to my taste."

Song of Solomon 2:3

By Samantha Lindholm

Done in Photoshop CS5

I Can Feel

I can feel the burning,

The swelling.

I can feel His unrelenting heart;

His love indwelling.

I can feel a rhythm, a mysterious beat.

It comes like water

Rushing down the street.

By Samantha Lindholm
Written February 12, 2012

Untitled

You are not deterred by the weak way I come to You.

You are not discouraged by the paleness of my face

And the trembling of my fingers.

You wrap me in transcending arms.

You accept me fully in Your embrace.

By Samantha Lindholm

Soul's Ocean

There’s a deep place in me

Designed to be dissatisfied.

This place is an ocean,

Spanning infinite and broad,

Across the universe of my soul.

It is ever unfinished,

Yet thirsting to be whole.

It is the gnawing of a wound

That yearns for healing touch.

It is my gift.

It makes me search for love.

There’s a deep place in me

Designed for Your indwelling.

This place is an ocean,

Singing and swelling

With waves of praise to You.

You alone end the search,

Yet meeting You inspires thirst –

A yearning to melt again at just one touch,

To be moved by one more wind of revelation

Of Your everlasting love.

By Samantha Lindholm

Written February 2, 2012

Incident

Once riding in old Baltimore,

   Heart-filled, head-filled with glee,

I saw a Baltomorean

   Keep looking straight at me.

Now I was eight and very small,

   And he was no whit bigger,

And so I smiled, but he poked out

   His tongue, and called me, "Nigger."

I saw the whole of Baltimore

    From May until December:

Of all the things that happened there

   That's all that I remember.

By Countee Cullen

Glass Bottle

Her heart is a glass bottle.

Alive inside, she’s a butterfly: beating wings, vibrant colors.

She’s a sing-song soul with eyes so wide,

Her heart-dreams span the Eastern sky.

She’s a melodic expression of the Great Creator,

Her Mighty Father; her Kind Maker.

See right through her; see into her.

Knit for love, she points her finger and life at the One

Whose thoughts transcend the contrivances of man.

Her heart is in His hand.

By Samantha Lindholm

Written November 13, 2011