One Day When I Leave This Place

One Day When I Leave This Place

One day when I leave this place,

I’m going leave with a bang—

I’m sure if you’ll remember my name,

But I hope you never forget my face.

Will you remember my passion?

Will you remember my strengths?

Or will you dwell on that which is true,

That I was imperfect, just like you.

I had no ambitions to change the world,

At least not in tangible ways—

But I determined in my heart,

To try to make a better today.

I’m not sure I did all I wanted,

Nor did I accomplish all my goals—

But I served Christ with all my heart,

And lived to give others a fresh start.

But life was quickly fleeting,

With a time span unguaranteed—

Don’t measure the wealth I acquired,

It’s not how I wanted to succeed.

I did my best to live a different way,

Striving in life seasoned with grace,

So when others looked at me,

They didn’t see me, they saw His face.

So now that I’ve come to the end,

But it’s not over for me, it only begins--

With one foot in the door

Stretching between now and eternity.

I know how you feel,

I’ve felt this way before

Don’t cry for me,

Don’t shed a tear

Unless its one for joy

Though I’ll miss your embrace

But it’s time I left here

And went on to a better place.

Greg Butz

June 22^nd, 2009

A Poem for My Little Sister

A Poem for My Little Sister

This is a poem for my little sister,

Who is growing up, right before my eyes.

I marvel as I’ve see all the changes –

That are occurring, throughout your life.

I smile when you dance with joy

And the times you run with glee,

And laugh at all the things in your life

That lift you up and make you happy.

Though you may not have seen

Any of these tears of mine—

I’ve cried gushing wellsprings

When you are saddest in your life.

But I’m thankful to call you little sister,

And that I could be your brother.

I am proudest of all the things in life

That you have already discovered.

Even though you don’t have all the answers

To life’s trickiest of questions –

I know you desire Him faithfully,

And diligently follow His decrees.

And God is doing wonderful things in your life.

As He shapes you into a godly woman.

So continue to run to Him with all your might—

And never stop listening to His heart beat in your life.

And though trouble times may come upon you,

And your thoughts may scream, “What can I do?”

Just listen to the quiet voice in your life –

It’s the Father loving you saying:

“Everything will be all right.”

Greg Butz

2-13-09, (Revised June 22^nd)

I had the choice to either watch a movie, or to write a poem for my little sister. I chose of course to write the poem. This was a very easy poem to write -- because the feelings are very sincere. This poem is for my little sister, along with all the little sisters who are in my life. These include my friends at church as well as former and current students. One of the greatest joys in my life – is to be an older brother, for all my little sisters. No matter how old you become, you will always be my little sister =)

This is not a goodbye

This is Not Goodbye

We’ve known each other through the years,
The hardships, troubles, and with all of our tears.
It’s a surprise to find, that we’re moving on—
So goodbye, I can’t believe that you’re gone.

We took for granted all the time we shared,
When I looked at you, I knew that you cared.
I’m clinging to the memories of our good times,
But I never thought that we’d say “goodbye”,

Those times we talked for hours into the night
You seemed so close, yet you were out of my sight…
As we drifted apart, unclear of the reasons why
You went your way, and I went mine, “goodbye.”

Out there seems so large and confusing—
Though today, we seem to be loosing our way.
I’ll take comfort in knowing that—
Forever doesn’t end with our goodbye today.

One day we’ll bump back into each other
We’ll forget this moment—
Like we were friends forever!
When I see your face again,
A simple “hi” will erase the pain of this goodbye.
So I guess in the end, this was not a goodbye.

It can’t be the end,
We’ll meet again.
This is not goodbye.

Life will be greater,
When I see you later,
Again, this is not goodbye.

Greg Butz
June 21, 2009

Four Not Three in the Fire

Four not three in the fire

In a far away place, men of a different race

Gathered together to respect their king.

Decreed by He, to love and adore

And fall and worship their lord.

Three men, from a different tribe

Faced an impossible choice—

To worship a man undeserving of praise,

Or be cast into a furnace of flames.

Unwilling to bow their head to an idol

They abandoned their hope in earthly guile.

Choosing the pain – instead of the shame

They willingly went into the fire.

And the Flames burned through their bondage,

Delivering them from their captors

And appearing in the midst such a strange sight to see

There were four, not three in the fire

Who could it be that was with them?

"How were they alive?" thought Neb,

The fire has no affect on their bodies

The fourth one must have saved them!

"Praise be the God of these three men,

How mighty are His wonders!

His kingdom will last an eternity

And he’ll reign forever victoriously.

Now we go through various trials

Not that were threatened to be thrown in a fire

But to serve the Lord, or to fall away

Which one of these will you choose today?

By Greg Butz

Summer of 2008.

I wrote this poem just shortly before going back home last summer. I intended for it to be made into a song, but instead decided to publish it here in its poem format. I hope you enjoy it. (It's the story of Daniel's three friends by the way

The Watchman

The Watchman (pt. one)

Loneliness becomes him, as he sits waiting expectantly.
While the others have departed, he will not abandon his post.
They say many different people, live more exciting lives
With a sigh he waits knowingly, that his duty matters most.

A quite life, alone and removed, he watches life go by—
Never missing for a moment, the life he left behind.

His position and duty is to keep his people safe--
Safe from the dangers that rear when the people fall asleep.
Though there are distractions, in his life that is removed—
Yet he cannot leave his watchtower, His post he must keep.

The town never quite realizes, how much of him they are in need—
But if his horn were ever to blow, then his voice they must take heed!

Even when it’s dark, the threat of danger is the worst.
Watchman keep the fire burning, flickering through the night.
And keep your eyes fixated off to the distant horizon,
The lives of everyone, is depended upon your keen eyesight.

And if the enemy attacks, he must arouse the alarm to array
But until that day arrives, he waits silently and he prays.

Greg Butz
June 12th, 2009

Perhaps one of the most significant poems for me. This poem was first written two years ago, as I was preparing to go to Hong Kong and begin teaching. I later wrote a second draft of this poem, while I was in Macau (walking up a hill to fortress). The idea of being a watchman is very significant to me. Ezekiel was commanded by God to be the "watchman of his people." A watchman is someone who guards and warns the people of danger (Ezekiel 33). Why this is so significant to me, is I believe in similar fashion God has called me to be a watchman of some sorts -- its in my namesake. The name Greg literally means "the watchman" and I believe that there is still significance in this calling. Often I feel removed, giving advice through my perception-- i see things differently than others.

Sadly, the second version of this poem was lost when my prayer journal disappeared, but the Lord gives and he takes away. I unexpectantly located the first draft of it, updated it giving it a slightly different rhyming scheme, and now uploaded it for your enjoyment!

Our Mind

Our Mind

They say that a mind is a terrible thing to lose,

But I didn’t realize that endured such horrible abuse.

I didn’t like anything that altered my mind,

That’s why I wouldn’t drink alcohol: whiskey or wine—

Nor would you see me shooting up drugs,
After all, aren’t they just artificial mental hugs?

Momentarily satisfying, chasing that high,

After the crash, withdrawals tear-streak the eyes

The cycles need breaking, when to our addictions we crawl

Perhaps our lives are needing a major overhaul.

But can’t you see what damages us most—

Isn’t hiding the skeletons, or kicking our ghosts

It’s the little things that we do, that damages our mind,

Those compromises we make, when lies intertwine.

From the broken circles trust, of family and friends,

Only to tell them repeatedly, “I’ll never do it again.”

But if we gaze much deeper, closer we’ll find

That the thing we’ve hurt most, is our precious mind.

Stripping layer by layer, we become a nonentity,

In perverting the truth, we lose our identity.

Screaming inwardly, “What have I become!”

When it all falls apart, and our lives are undone.

Is it possible to change, by redirecting our gaze?

To peer behind the murkiness of this everyday haze.

And that inward satisfaction of healing our mind,

Only by looking upward, will salvation we’ll find.

Greg Butz

June 11^th, 2009

I did some thinking (pondering my internal philosophy while showering) and a few ideas popped into my mind. I was thinking in this simple rhyme schema, putting it to words was fun. I know rhyming “drugs” with “artificial mental hugs” seems like I’m reaching for a rhyme, but I do really like the imagery… its what originally popped into my mind to begin with. Anyway, the point of this is that we can physically damage our mind by abusing it with controlling substances, but mentally we can damage it by constructing false schemas and filling it with lies, negative thoughts, and moral compromises.

Dolce Somnus and Tormented Slumber

Dolce Somnus and the Tormented Slumber

The eyes drooped tired and heavy,

As his breaths grew slower and deeper—

Slowly he drifted melodically,

Down the river paved with his dreams.

Little flashes of pleasure,

Each dream that lay before him—

Every image a different story,

Coolly intertwined into intricate streams.

A sad dream, a happy dream

Some filled with Brutus who plunged the knife,

But most left him with a sense of longing

For the things he missed most in his life.

Coughing, the terror!

What of my day was this supposed to mirror?

It was my inability to breathe

That was causing this foul interruption of my dreams.

Gasping for breath, an ecstasy of fumbling

As under a green sea, I lay there drowning.
In all my dreams, before the helpless night,

I plunge, guttering, choking, drowning.

My bed covered with tears and sweat,

I awaken with a fright.

Still coughing I laid there,

Helpless against onslaught during the night.

Dolce et Decorum Est, Dolce Somnus

Though it was hard to sleep there peacefully,

With my lungs drowning in mucus.

By Greg Butz

June 9th, 2009

I was having such a pleasant dream, until I violently woke up coughing. I also woke up my poor roommate as well. My eyes were streaming with tears, with my throat on fire -- I was breathing so easily just a few hours ago. After waking up, I took a Lozenges for my fit of coughing, sat down with my prayer journal, and after a few minutes of praying I wrote this poem.