POIĒMA: His Workmanship with a Pulse

A Poem based on Ephesians 2:10 on the Hands that Wrote Us | By Taylor O’Lynn

I am not random.
Not a scribble in the margins
of a better idea.
Not filler.
Not chance.
Not background noise
to someone else’s crescendo.

I am not the sum
of opinions and observations
held together by skin and thread.

No.
I was authored.

Composed.
Word by word,
with breath on the tongue
and blood on the hands.

Before mountains knew their shape,
before gravity held anything down,
before carbon atoms interlaced,
He held me
In something like longing.

He held me
like a line He couldn’t wait to write
even knowing
what it would cost.

What kind of writer
chooses paper
that will pierce Him?

What kind of poet
bleeds for his workmanship?

This kind.
Only Him.

He did not flinch.
He did not edit the plan.
He did not stop at
“It’s too much.”

He kept writing.
Wrote me through water,
through womb,
through my wrongs,
through my lies,
and family lines
and fragile lungs.

He crafted me
the form and imagery,
these limbs, this laugh,
Knowing my debauchery

And when I cried the first time,
He didn’t recoil.
He rejoiced.
Because the poem
Had a voice.

You can’t tell me
that’s ordinary.

You can’t see the dirt and dust
and think seeds were anything but
planted and watered.

There is too much rhythm here.
Too much deliberate.

My pulse is a line break.
My breath, enjambment.
My thoughts even speak

And still—
still I forget.
Still I want to be
easier to read.
Cooler.
More shareable.
A catchy caption.

But He won’t have it.

Because He didn’t write me
for applause.
He wrote me
for presence.
For communion.
For community.

I am not hung in a gallery.
No, His workmanship walks.

A breathing composition
set to the tempo
of redemption.

And some days,
yes,
I want to cross myself out.
To say this can’t be holy
this mess can’t be set apart,
these flaws,
this fragile skin.

But even then,
He holds me like a first draft
He’ll never give up on.

He calls me
poem.

Not past tense.
Not "was."
Not "used to be."
Am.

I am His poiēma.
His written line that cost Him everything
but He still said
“She is mine.”

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You Never Left Me

A poem about God’s ongoing faithfulness to us | by Joey Shelton

I question the struggle I question my faith

But day by day you give me strength

These trials are always difficult to bare

I need to find answers but I never know where

But as difficult as these times will be through all the trials YOU NEVER LEFT ME

When I was far from where the cross would stand

I continued to reach out for your mighty hand

Then I lost my grip and you gave me hope

That's when I knew I would always have a home

But as difficult as these times will be through all the trials YOU NEVER LEFT ME

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God’s Got Me

A poem about God’s never ending love | by Joey Shelton

God gave everyone gifts, but sadly not to me”

It’s hard to find the person you are supposed to be

You look in the mirror and hate what you see

But that’s when you get up and say I’m gonna be ME!

You may not know the gift you have right away

But all I say is just take it day by day

God gave us all a gift and purpose

Just be sure to not become heartless

We all have down days to the point where all we do is sin

Just remember that with God - the devil won’t win

God gave us the free will to have a choice

To sit and dwell but get up and rejoice!

We don’t know what God has planned or who is in our plan!

But I know for a fact he is MY number one fan!

God loved me when I was so low

He will always love me, and not let go!

That is the message we all need to know!

He’s there when we’re dirty and there when we’re clean

God is always where I will lean!

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