When it Starts to Rain

Waking up in the morning to another obscure day
When I look outside my window, I see nothing but dark grey.
These overtures have stained and placed in me a mood
As this gloom abounds, I fear my joy has been eschewed.

Upward I stare and strain to catch a glimpse
Or an indication that the heavens are about to mist.
Until I heard a little plunk, against my window pane
I smile softly for it won’t be long, until it starts to rain.

And down pours the rain to wash away all of my pain
And why do I feel this way, when it starts to rain?
There’s a sense of peace—
And a feeling of warmth
Amidst all of this fear
And all the things in life that I’ve missed
Doesn’t matter, when it starts to rain.

The storm moved in quickly much to my surprise
While the echoes of thunder roll as the forks of light arrive.
The water pours, as the sky storms -- with no end in sight
And I think of how this dreadful weather mirrors my turbulent life.

There’s a descent into madness, as the skies now turn black—
There’s a feeling of hopelessness knowing there’s no turning back.
While the wind it howls and batters my peace of mind
Against the backdrop of chaos, the rain will bring healing in due time.

And down pours the rain to wash away all of my pain
And why do I feel this way, when it starts to rain?
There’s a glimmer of hope
A meaning to life
When all else seems lost
And somehow life was worth the cost,
When it starts to rain.

-- Greg Butz
April 25, 2009

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Going into this poem, it had been a long, somewhat emotional day. I just sat down and typed a few words, and the rest of this poem came quite naturally. It had also been raining for the last week when I wrote this poem, so this was also a reflection of the weather and current mood outside as well as from the inside. I have another poem in my mind about the rain, but I'll write it another day. (Ah-hem, so I guess I'll save it for a "rainy day" heh heh).

A Day Without the Sun

A Day Without the Sun

On a lonely hill -
Overlooking a valley
I sit in the morning
Awaiting the sun's first light.

As winds pick up,
There’s no change in the skies
And I wonder if the sun
Can break the stranglehold of night.

The morning is quiet you see
And only the chirping of birds
Interrupt the thoughts
From Deep within me,

They cry out in alarm
As if to say:
“Let’s go back to bed,
for today the sun is dead.”

I stumble down the path
Unsure of my footing -
With No sun to guide my way
On this light abandoned ground.

There are no passerbys
Yet the air is strangely filled—
With a silent eerie buzz
Of prayers and cries rising from around.

The morning is quite dreadful today
As people scream and wail of doom from the end
They cry out in alarm as if to say,
“We cannot bear this dread; soon we’ll all be dead.”

All throughout the night
They waited through the time,
Wonder had turned to anguish
Right before their eyes.

They held their children dearly
And kissed their loved ones all goodbye,
And cherished their final moments
Until early the next morning, when the sun began to rise.
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By Greg Butz
April 24, 2009

I first began working on this poem early in March – I had just begun running in the morning (which ended almost abruptly as it had begun). I climbed up to the top of a reservoir awaiting the morning’s first rays. It took forever for the sun to rise, when a thought of this little poem / song (it was and still is a tune in my head) came to my mind. What if the sun never rose for a day? Would that change our life – and if it would, shouldn’t we make changes in our life now, and not wait until it is too late? Just a few thoughts to ponder.

The Shadows

The Shadows

Icy shivers run down my spine as I dodge to evade fleeing shadows—

These chaotic turbulences swirl about, with their dances of dark delight.

Turning on the lights, does not diminish their presence,

They flee to linger in the corners, plotting how to best reemerge.

Even light seems now dimmer, as I walk with them fully on.

Though they remain subdued, diluted in appearance

With every step I take, only casts further shadows on the walls.

Such a dark world it seems, even dark in my own life—

How can one soul become a light, to pierce this darkest of the night?

I dare to ask the questions, to peer deep into the menacing maw,

And reject their silly notions of gaining authority of my life.

But still the shadows linger, as I chase them to and fro –

From wherever they have come from, and to wherever they may go.

It is still all a mystery, from what plans that may be--

But I do declare with great weakness, depending fully on His strength

That the lord of this present age will not gain mastery over me,

For I serve the one true LORD that will rule forever in the next.

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By Greg Butz

April 24, 2009

I wrote this after arriving home from school one day, to dark shadows. They seemed to leap out at me as I arrived. I jotted down the first line and later reflected upon this occurrence. It is possible that it was just the wind and the trees from outside, but we also do fight against an enemy that is not flesh and bones. Today, I have been drained as I fight against the perceptions of others. Though my flesh may be weak, and at times I feel emotionally broken, still I know that I must press forward to become that light talked about in 2 Corinthians chapter four.

The Runner's Creed

The Runners Creed

Runners take your mark, get set and GO!
Run hard, run fast, and don’t become slow.
With each powerful stroke to realize,
That you compete solely for the prize.
Do not lose the faith or become blind
By not focusing on the finish line.

Runners your first lap is now complete!
But it’s a struggle as you continually compete,
This race doesn’t seem nearly as short
When you decided to join this grueling sport.
Endure through all this wretched pain —
Because a half-hearted stroke is a competitor’s gain.

Your lungs are on fire, as you gasp for air
Agony is mental, but you’re living on a prayer.
Despair and hope have one thing they share
It depends on how well the runner has prepared
Push your thoughts away and you will find—
That concentration will bring you clarity of mind.

Crowds leave in boredom while you continue to run –
They failed to notice that you had only just begun
Even though you’ve raced now for years
Through joys, trials, and the tears—
These distractions will not cause you to resign
For you know there is only one finish line.

Keep your eyes focused on Him who guides
Match each stroke of His, stride for stride.
When you finally cross that line,
At His predetermined time
He will say to you with a smile,
“You ran well, my wonderful child.”

--

By Greg Butz
April 2, 2009


This poem is just a reflection on the last track meet and my own experiences with running. We all know that life isn’t a sprint, it is quite a distance, but it requires us to continue to run. We race to compete and to win a prize, and as Christians our focus is supposed to be solely upon Him. So keep running runners!

A Crown of Righteousness

A Crown Of Righteousness

A Crown of Righteousness
The result of His crown of thorns –
Why do I lavish the reward,
From what He once adorned.

A heart of shattered dreams,
There was no hope left for us—
Yet still He chose to bear our pain
And heal our brokenness.

We deserved not His blessings,
Nor the riches of His love—
Yet he reached with compassion
And poured grace from above.

And His voice still sweetly lingers
As He continues His longing call
“Come find your peace and rest,
There is much room for you all.”

And soon one day, very soon,
I’ll take a hold of what is promised
Though I haven’t been perfect—
My life a ‘doubtin’ Thomas’

But I will trudge forward,
And without unwillingness
Though I remember all my lies
He overlooks what I transgress.

I will hold onto this hope,
And cling steadfast unto His name
There is joy within my heart,
I’ll sing his name with great acclaim.

I’m getting ready to leave this life
Yet with all my heart I must profess—
That instead of my crown of thorns,
I’ll trade it for His righteousness.

By Greg Butz
March 30, 2009

--

In my heart, I am beginning to prepare myself for a trip to Pakistan this summer. It is not the safest of regions in the world. Every day there is much news of horrors, but I am not afraid. If the occasion does arise, and I never to home return – may my life be an example of willingness to serve an Awesome King. And one day, I will get to trade my thorns and sorrows for a crown of Righteousness.

The World's Turning

The World's Turning

The world is turning upside
While my heart is on the outside
And all these problems seem
to be spinning out of control.

My soul yearns for freedom,
Though my mind knows theres none,
And the troubles of my heart,
Can't seem to stay away

Take me down, down the road,
Away from all this strife--
No one told me there would be
So much trouble in my life.

But up in the distance--
Approaching I see a light
Beckoning as it nears--
"Everything will be alright."

By Greg Butz
March 25th, 2009

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I wrote this poem after a difficult class. There is one class that just enjoys testing me for some reason -- they're great kids, but just a handful sometimes. I quickly scribbled down these thoughts without looking at the minature dry erase board (which i need to return to Alison Stephens). I seem to have this fixation on "journey" type of poems. Which reminds me, I must also upload an earlier poem about a road. Enjoy

The Wind that Whispers

The Wind that Whispers

The wind that whispers through the night
The things you dare not hear—
But how oft it preys upon your fears
Of the things that cause you fright.

The racing in your chest—your worries do ignite
Its long jagged reach cuts you through
As you consider if their lies be true –
When all else in your life seems but blight.

Clasping your hands over your ears –
Trying to shut all this madness out!
But even the tested and the devout,
Will find it difficult to persevere.

Oh the wicked wind how it howls,
Scrapping the branches onto your house
Amplifying fears as they rouse
When everything outside seems foul.

The shriek of terror outside
While the violent clamors rise—
To herald our hope’s demise,
And to demand truths subside.

But pinning toward a faint sound,
I hear the slightest glimmer of hope
While terrors outside do abound –
A still voice in the wind helps me cope.

Against the terrors of the night,
Against the darkest of my fears—
I strain my hears now to hear
That Love will keep me safe tonight.

Greg Butz
3-22-09

I hadn’t written a poem in a while, and it’s been even longer since I’ve written one of quality. I’m afraid I haven’t the opportunity to refine this one to make it more impactful. I’ve been listening to the booming of the wind too often, without pausing to recognize the still small voice – beckoning to me. There is hope despite madness, instead of sucumbing to the darkness, lets sucumb to the light.