Dauntless Faith

Project Title: Dauntless Faith Poetry Chapbook

Project Type: Visual Design & Content Creation for Print and Media Marketing

Mercy

For you, could I be brave?

To tell you about the ways in which I falter, 

Will you see how I bend by your hand?

Will you laugh?

If I scream into the wind, 

At the cliff’s edge, 

Will you catch me before I fall?

Or turn your face in shame;

Deny all association?

Desperately, I reach for constellations

While falling into the abyss.

I can see the claws of my nails

Raking down my rib cage, 

In my feeble attempt to contain this pain

Within the crevices of my soul, 

The depths where even I wander blind. 

At what point can we,

The tattered remains cast to the ground, 

Exclaim triumphantly,

That we,

At last, have given enough?

I am the wingless bird at your mercy, 

Will I be weak,

If in your arms,

The crooked bones of my once glorious wings,

Press back into you?

​

I have held fast to my stubborn strength,

Only to find myself on my knees before you. 

​

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Angelic Grace

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The gentle breeze flowed tenderly,

Through silken, chestnut hair.

The sun’s golden hue gazed down upon the field,

A slight blush crept along her cheeks from its heat.

Intensely aware of the slight figure in the meadow, 

Yet unable to tear himself away. 

He had never before seen such grace and splendor.

An alluring, fragile woman stood in the field.

Surrounded by wondrous flowers of every shape and size.

He had admired the meadow on numerous occasions,

However, this new presence was certainly distinct.

Her delicate fingers slowly caressed the soft petals.

Jovial laughter hung in the air around her,

The woman’s smile, more lustrous than the shining sun,

Added a new breath of radiance to the wind.

Spinning in playful circles, her dress swished around her ankles as she

Collapsed onto the mountains of petals,

 And settled among the many flowers that littered the ground.

The brilliant melody of colors exclaimed a song of bliss.

All too soon, the woman rose for departure.

He lamented at the accompanying sense of loss.

Her figure held such finesse,

 Silent as an angel’s fluttering wings,

He could not blame her for his feeling of dejection.

The gentle breeze flowed tenderly,

Through silken, chestnut hair.

The sun’s golden hue gazed down upon the field,

As he had never before seen such grace and splendor.