The Grumpy Old Man

Have you heard the story of the grumpy old man?
Who sat on his porch with a shotgun in hand,
He rocked back and forth in his creaky old chair,
And glared at the kids while he stroked his grey hair.

People walked by and pointed and stared,
Some laughed at him but some were scared,
He had put up signs that said “Stay out,”
And no one really knew what the grump was about.

Kids would drive by and throw rocks at his house,
While they laughed and pointed and tussled about,
Others would poke fun and yell and shout,
But they wouldn’t if they knew what the grump was about.

He sat all alone as he grumpily sneered,
On his porch as he had done for years,
He had lived his life and he was ready to go,
And he wanted to just be left all alone.

But deep inside this withered old grump,
Was a tender heart that slowly pumped,
It was a heart that was once so gentle and kind,
But his good heart was broken and once left behind.

So he sits on his porch and looks into the sky,
He looks up with a rare gentle glint in his eye,
He says, “God, I think tonight is the night,
I’ve been looking forward to see ya for a really long time.

I hope you still remember what you promised to me,
When I was all alone and as scared as could be,
I can’t say I’ve been perfect but I’ve tried my best,
I hope I haven’t disappointed you too much, I hope I’ve passed your test.

I hope I haven’t scared too many of those kids,
Please bless each one, I don’t care what they did,
And all those that laughed at me please forgive,
I’d have laughed at me too if one of their lives I had lived.

I just hope that when those kids finally grow up,
They don’t break their own hearts like I did once,
And let go of the person that they truly love,
And turn into me, an ornery old grump.”

So the grumpy old man talked to God through the night,
Till the rays of the sun o’er the horizon did shine,
But this morning was different, for no rocks were tossed,
Nobody laughed, and nobody scoffed.

A few people pointed but not to make fun,
Just to point out that the old man’s life was finally done,
The ambulance came and they took him away,
Put him in a lone grave, but nobody came.

The next morning in the newspapers headline,
In big bold letters, “The Grumpy Old Man Has Finally Died.”
Years went by and not a tear was shed,
Because they never knew the man’s heart that was once broken.

I knew the old man though, and my tears did drop,
When I found out that he had returned to his God,
And there is no doubt in my mind that his promise was sealed,
It took a life time, but I’m sure now that his heart has finally been healed.

-Jacob Winterfeldt

Angel Wings and Icicle Breaks

Do you know how an Angel gets his wings?
I’m sure you’ve heard of this many times before,
An Angel gets his wings when a bell rings,
It doesn’t count though, when it’s for your front door?

No, it’s got to be done the old fashioned way,
By the hand of a child who rings it soft,
A sight seldom seen in our given day,
So let the children ring the bells, and let them oft.

Here’s something else to know for Heaven’s sakes,
Not many know for it’s seldom spoken,
Do you know what happens when an icicle breaks?
When the ice shatters, a great heart is broken.

So ring the bells and let the icicles hang,
For the sake of the Angels and of a great heart,
Oft times though Angels only here the bells ring,
After the ice shatters and breaks all apart.

-Jacob Winterfeldt

The Ghost of my Soul

The Ghost of my Soul

I looked out my window through a blizzard, I squinted,
I saw a man with no jacket through the window so tinted,
A voice enter my head, ‘twas urgent it hinted,
“Save me!” It said, and out the door I so sprinted.

The blistering winds and the snow I was blinded,
Finding no man but my mind was reminded,
Look o’re the hill he was there I was sure,
Find him soon for much longer no man could endure.

No jacket myself for I had gone before I
Had put one on, to save the man, at least try!
When I reached the hill where I thought he would be,
Not a man was there, not a soul, just me.

Not grabbing a coat I started to regret,
The man I was to save I started to forget,
Almost frozen now, I could catch my death,
My nose blue, skin froze, and bitter cold breath!

Then through the snow I saw an abode,
There was a man looking out of a tinted window,
“Save me!” the voice in my head I did urgently quote,
I was aghast when I saw my savior sprint out though without a coat!

“Go back, get a coat, you’ll freeze I cried!”
Why would he ever in this weather without a coat go outside?
Suddenly I found the man, whom save I had tried,
It was myself in the snow, I took my last breath and fainted and died.

You can’t save a soul without being prepared,
I wish someone to me, this truth had shared,
For I’ve set the example, so this poem I’ve wrote,
Don’t run into the storm without first putting on a coat.

-Jacob Winterfeldt

My Angel

Father, stay nearby,
I need thee here tonight,
Please hold me while I cry
Underneath thy lit moonlight.

I am tired, so let me sleep
While angels keep me out of danger,
As thy Son did Christmas Eve,
While He lay in a sweet manger.

Is it just my thoughts, or did I see,
The glint of someone over me,
As if my watcher has the keys,
To endow me with sweet blessed dreams.

I still feel a presence near,
There must be a reason why,
This feeling o so dear,
Like a flitting butterfly.

No Father, I do not fear,
I know thou couldst not ever lie,
Thy sleeves are wet with my tears,
Thou hold’st me whilst I cry.

Father, stay nearby,
Sanctify my mind,
If not thee thy self,
Then thy angels o, so kind.

If they are busy, leave me with the moon,
And if its rays are held back by the clouds,
Leave me with whom I may be with soon,
My Angel whom my dreams endows.

-Jacob Winterfeldt

Few Simple Words

A few times every raith, (a quarter of a year)
I’ll walk in mesonoxion, (pertaining to midnight)
The sky I underneath,
A mystic poem has just begun.

This is no inaniloquent, (idle talk)
Or a foolish finnimbrun, (a trinket or knick knack)
I will not be altiloquent , (speaking pompously)
Or be a dull blellum. (an idle boring chatterer)

No, this I say with lamprophony, (loudness and clarity of voice)
These words are so much more
Then dubious, bologna, (a disgusting sandwich meat)
So find the meaning I implore!

In our triumphant zeitgeist, (the ideas prevalent in a period or place)
We often jactancy, (to boast)
And others of us are impressed
By our jookerie. (to gain advantage through trickery)

This is not what we should do though,
This will only give us a wanweird, (an unhappy fate)
We should follow those theochristic, (anointed by God)
And those whom in God are revered.

If we would all observe the children,
We could all live in a theonomy, (government of God)
All quodlibets would be put to rest, (a debate over theological points among Christians)
And all would have a dad and mommy.

Kerdomeletia we need to denounce, (an excessive desire for material wealth)
And control our cacoethes, (an insatiable urge)
With vigor these words I’ll pronounce
All my peripatetic days. (going from place to place)

A dystopia to us so hurts, (a place where conditions are miserable and people are unhappy)
But we treat others like we live that way,
Truth abounds in these few words,
As simple as they are, let’s heed them today.

-Jacob Winterfeldt

Snow

A majestic feel one gets at night,
The drifting snow in the street light,
A blanket of white drifts down to warm
The soul in its symbolic form.

Surreal the scene in the midnight hour,
Like a dream, a pristine shower,
A zeal in my heart is felt and seen,
Liken to the presence of a king and queen.

The earth to us this blessing is
As a loving look, a humble kiss,
The snow to me so represents,
The pure in hearts sacred events.

If one day I could create,
Something as unique as a snow flake,
I’d hope and pray that she would live
Up to the potential that I’d give.

And if she didn’t, I would pray,
For the snow to go her way,
For if anything would thus inspire,
The snow though cold ignites a fire.

It drifts as if a character
Is within the very subtle air,
If there is one thing I am sure,
That life abounds in everywhere.

It is a gift to thus behold,
When the midnight veil starts to unfold,
The snow, the stars, and angels all,
To your heart a message they softly call.

A message of truth straight from above,
Impressions of those whom I dearly love,
I wish I could hold all the time this feel,
And keep in my heart this grateful zeal.

The snow to my heart so agrees
With what I’ve heard from the cool night breeze,
The stars, my heart and angels too,
Fill my very soul with truth it’s true.

-Jacob Winterfeldt

A Good Dream

A good dream is like heaven,
Like finding something you’ve lost,
Like a beautiful, subtle, little vision,
So nice, so tender, so soft.

As the dews of heaven descend
Upon my mind while I sleep,
Their rays of truth do mend,
My heart; I wake, I weep.

A good dream will take you home
To a people, a family,
No longer the cost to be alone,
For in a good dream, heaven is free.

It’s as if a good dream is more real,
Then this earthly life we live,
I believe it is when it heals,
And when gifts to your heart it gives.

A good dream will invite a peace,
Not a chemical feel in the brain,
But one in your heart that will never cease,
Like a true friendship that’s so hard to obtain.

So God gives us good dreams so that we may believe,
In the things that He wishes us to receive,
There are things in my heart I could never deny,
Though it’s so hard and so often I cry.

But each tear that drops is a testimony,
Of my soul’s very utmost sincerity.
Of the things in my life that I have ever seen,
I believe the most in the things that I see when I dream.

-Jacob Winterfeldt

Back Yard Adventure

As I sit upon my swing,
This night, this humble even-ing,
I set out on an adventure,
One more daring then most I am sure.

A sudden, cold, snowstorm flurry,
Gives me chills, I start to worry,
A snowflake flits upon my nose,
As if to say, “What up Jake, how does it goes?”

Then through the deepest mists of my back yard,
I see a skulking cat, cool, sleek, and hard,
It glares at me with shifty eyes,
Almost like a ninja in disguise.

It sleekly maneuvers through the fogs,
With grace and stealth to avoid the dogs,
Its eyes so tense as if to say,
“I has a secret agenda, so get out my way.”

Then a lone wanderer comes walking by,
To this creature though I can speak,
I say, “How are you doing this chilling night?”
He wags his tail humbly and meek.

A giant among his species he is,
The greatest of Danes, an old weak kneed fellow,
He knows the territory of which is his,
But is wandering out to say hello.

With a sniff of my hand he greets me so,
Leaving a soft tread in the drifting snow,
A trait of the meek no matter species or size,
I tell him of ninja cats, an excitement erupts in his eyes.

“Do you want to come with me on my dangerous quest?
You might end up facing the worst of your fears!”
The Dane replied, “Sure, as long as you don’t mind scratching my chest,
And maybe once or twice massaging my ears.”!

So into the night with that agreement we went,
In the most remote parts of my back yard this time we spent,
Dodging ninja cats behind every corner,
Till our quest’s end was met at the fence of my back yard’s border.

“Well, thanks for coming with me on this dangerous quest,
I’m sorry it wasn’t as exciting as I made it out to be,”
The Dane replied, “What you talking about? This was da best,
We chased like, twenty ninja cats up into like ten different trees!”

I laughed and said, “Yeah, maybe you’re right,”
To this greatest of Danes, whom I could relate,
I had fun with my wandering buddy last night,
No need to worry though, ‘cause I didn’t stay up very too late.

-Jacob Winterfeldt

Paradigm Shift

Another apple fell from the tree,
This one though fell in front of me,
I had no thought of day and night,
'Til this law of God switched on a light.

Opened up a new wave of thought,
Delving deeper into what I’ve been taught,
Increasing the range of my own true sight,
And defining the blur between wrong and right.

Not a soul that has found a new atmosphere,
Has not wished once or twice that they could forget,
For the insight brings new laws to adhere,
My mind is racing while under a tree I sit.

One could learn a lot by looking at their own hands,
The marks, the scars, the wrinkles, the rings,
But one thing more the heart commands,
Is the things to your love that your hand brings.

One could learn a lot by looking at their own hands,
The hairs on the back and the lines on the palm,
But one thing more the heart commands,
Is the way they nurture a love by the way they calm.

Another apple fell from a tree,
This one though fell in front of you,
It opened a world of what could possibly be,
If just a few things you certainly knew.

-Jacob Winterfeldt

The Lady from Belfromhoo

A shriek echoed loud through the warm air
Of an old town, this story I’ll share,
It was in a place that you never knew,
The strange old land of Belfromhoo!

A proud knight on a steed was galloping fast,
When he heard the screams of this bonny young lass,
He turned and he saw a frantic, strange man,
Swatting with a broom where the lass did stand.

The knight charged in on his gallant steed,
To save the lass whom terribly screamed
From the frantic man who looked a bit a mess,
And do as knights do with damsels in distress.

With one thrust of his sword he struck the man through!
The dastardly strange man from Belfromhoo,
Upon the grass the knight cleansed his sword,
And proudly walked toward his fair reward.

But when he approached what he thought would be,
A beautiful, grateful, fair lady,
He was surprised to behold she was shouting e’en more,
More than she had been ever before!

The knight was puzzled and without a clue
As he stood by the lady from Belfromhoo,
Who cursed him for doing the things that knights do,
He didn’t understand, but he was about to.

The lady shouted in Belfromhoo tongue,
“You shimmering, stale, fowl, pile of dung!”
Which translated means, “You stupid dingbat,
Next time you kill something, make sure it’s that rat!”

A big grey rat scurried away through the grass,
“That man was my husband you stupid jackass,
The last words he spoke before you struck him through,
Were, ‘no worries my love, I’ll get rid of that rat if it’s the last thing I do!'"

Now the moral of the story is quite simple at that,
Fair ladies scream like murder when confronting a rat,
So take that into consideration before striking a man through,
Especially in a strange land called Belfromhoo.

-Jacob Winterfeldt

Little Ditty

Letters make words,
And words make a line.
A line makes a sentence,
And this one makes a rhyme.

Saying them makes sounds,
And it makes you feel witty.
These sounds can amuse,
Especially this little ditty.

-Jacob Winterfeldt

Outer Space

If I could travel to outer space,
I’d find a place to call my own,
But here on Earth that’s not the case,
For my souls worth couldn’t buy a home.

If I could travel to outer space,
I’d be free to do the things I please,
I’d get by at my own pace,
And the gravity wouldn’t hurt my knees.

If I could travel to outer space,
O, the things that I would learn,
And how the stars I would embrace,
As their very rays in my heart burn.

If I could travel to outer space,
The more I think about the unknown,
And about my final resting place,
I suppose I would be all alone.

If I could travel to outer space,
I think I might be a wee bit scared,
I know I’d still be in His Grace,
But I suppose that I’m just not prepared.

Even at this time I suppose I’d fear,
Treading on these sacred things,
For my heart is there but my head is here,
I must wait for my God to give me wings.

If I could travel to outer space,
O, the things that I would dearth,
I’d probably learn to embrace,
The things most dear to me on Earth.

If I could travel through outer space,
And touch the sky and light above,
E’en though the stars this day I chase,
I’d better wait and go with the ones I love.

If I could travel through outer space,
A spaceship I would need to obtain,
And if I left this world without a trace,
I’d search the stars in utter vane.

I’d look for the feelings that guided me,
But in the midst of heaven, I’d go unawares,
But at a distance the stars I can see,
And the whole plan that He so gently shares.

For the things I would learn in outer space,
Would not coexist in a perfect rhyme,
Why would I ever want to replace,
The ones I love on Earth at this time.

-Jacob Winterfeldt

Thank You (For Thanksgiving Day)

I just want to clarify the last verse in this poem. I believe it is written the only way it is meant to be received, but it might be misinterpreted. The intent is to say that the pray-er,(as in one who prays,) is thanking Heavenly Father, that he is the one who received the gift. The pray-er is not telling Heavenly Father that he is thanking himself for it.

Some sincere words I offer thee,
My Father who is Heavenly,
As I wake and start my day,
I kneel, I bow and humbly pray.

I thank my Father for good sleep,
I pray my soul for Him to keep,
I ask if He’d stay by my side,
And in my heart humbly reside.

I thank Him for the best of friends,
Whose love is true and never ends,
And also for my family dear,
And those not seen but are so near.

I thank Him for the sweetest ghost,
Of which my heart is its grateful host,
Through Him truths are sacredly taught,
While in sincere prayer and intentful thought.

Thank you Father for angels close,
Whom these words help me compose,
And which protect, guide, and lead me to
Those who search and look for you.

And so thankful I am for especially One,
Thy perfect only begotten Son,
Whose sacrifice will forever be
Engrained in the essence of what is me.

I also pray that thou wouldst seal,
These words I speak to thee as I kneel,
Seal them that they will fulfill,
A promise, a kiss, thy perfect will.

I thank thee Father for it’s in my heart,
E’en though my body could fall apart,
In thanksgiving I’ll understand,
Wisdom obtained of what thou hast planned.

In my chest there is a light,
I found it in my darkest night,
I’m thankful for this light so clean,
And for the things that with it I have seen.

One last thing before I must go,
Wouldst thou let those who read this, light do show?
And let them know that it is true,
If not though, to me, Father, I say thank you.

-Jacob Winterfeldt

As I Sat on a Rock

As I sit on a rock, I’ve a city-scape before me,
I’ve a lone companion, who offers me cheer,
My mind floods with thoughts and memories,
Contemplating this place for the better part of a year.

Caressing my hair a cool breeze shuffles by,
My lone companion contently sitting near,
He pants, looks at me while blinking his eye,
As if to say, “Isn’t it nice here?”

One of the nicest places in the world,
This rock with a city-scape view,
Born here a relationship began to unfurl,
One better than all the greatest love stories it’s true.

But this day I sit only with this lone companion,
Who seemed to understand I needed him here just because,
As if he were even here the day it had begun,
And was wondering where the other party was.

The times in my life I’ve felt divinely inspired,
This place had one of the first, the words I recall,
After all of these years, to this place I’ve retired,
As my lone companion, in my lap dropped a ball.

I threw the ball far but stay with me was his vote,
Looking at me with young puppy dog eyes,
But an old seven and a-half year old gold coat,
Covered his body, staying quiet and wise.

I’m sure my young hearted companion my heart that day knew,
He spoke to me without having to talk,
And with me gazed out at the beautiful city-scape view,
All in that day, as I sat on a rock.

-Jacob Winterfeldt

My God

Please, I pray, my God art thou,
Art thou a lover? My heart is weak,
This one thing, I pray, I bow,
Show me this one thing I truly seek.

My God, thou hast loved more then I can,
Thou hast suffered e’en more then I as well,
Thou knowest that I am the weakest of men,
In my pains thou art God, this thing I can tell.

I can breathe this day by the grace of my God,
I wonder why He still offers it me,
I’ve vowed many oft times I’d break down this façade,
But I’m still in the tempest of a turbulent sea.

I walk with a thorn buried deep in my side,
It penetrates more than just skin,
Grateful am I for in thee I confide,
My King, my God, my Savior from sin.

I’m weak, I’m pained, I’m suffering so,
Wilt thou deliver me from this thing,
If my sufferings will so help other though,
Then I glory in this, I’ll praise thee and sing.

In this time of lament, and this painful state,
I’ve come closer to thee more than ever I’m sure,
I’m sorry to say though that I have come late,
But at least my hands are clean and pure.

Please, I pray, my God wilt thou,
Explain to me why I am so weak,
“Your weakness is there so you may know how,
To find answers to the things that you truly seek.”

Please, I pray, my God, I’m pained,
I’m hurting so badly, me, you have forsook,
“I do understand and you I’ve sustained,
My dearest angels have recorded your tears in my holy book.

“O, my child, if you could but see,
The things that for you are in store,
O, be wise, remember what you’ve seen,
Your trials will ascend you to my very door.”

“As the glints of memory that span your mind,
It will seem to you as all but a dream,
I know the pains, the sufferings, the laments of this kind,
Will be done in a flash to you it will seem.

The rewards are greater than the pains will ever be,
Just know this and in patience bear,
Your trials will strengthen you and set you free,
And then you’ll be blest with a love to share.

O, please Father, my God art thou,
Art thou a lover? Then let me see,
I’m weak, I’m pained, I’m hurting now,
But I know that thou still lovest me.

-Jacob Winterfeldt

The Dreamer

On a different night, in a weary world,
A dreamer looked up at the clouds, they swirled,
A frantic bird hobbled through the sky,
A broken wing, struggling to fly.

The blue night-wing flell to the dirt,
Then he sputtered, “O, that hurt,”
The dreamer could not believe his ears,
He said, “This cannot be what it appears.”

“O, please help me,” the night-wing cried,
“Birds can’t talk,” the dreamer sighed,
He then glanced back up into the sky,
And into the clouds that were swirling high.

Then suddenly a fierce dragon roared,
Bursting through the clouds it wildly soared,
A heavy fire bolt slammed the solid ground,
Splashing heat and flames all around.

The dragon landed at the dreamer’s feet,
Snarling, ferocious, and impending heat,
The dragon’s span was a school bus long,
But the dreamer sighed again and said, “This is all wrong.”

“Birds don’t talk and dragons don’t fly,
They aren’t even real and I’ll tell you why,”
The dreamer commenced to prove to the dragon that he didn’t exist,
As the heat from his breath fell over the dreamer like a thickening mist.

Then he knelt down and said to the little night-wing,
“Sorry, you can’t talk but I believe you can sing,
I’m sorry you’re wing hurts, but I just know you can’t speak,
The bird spoke up, “Yes I can because I’m unique.”

“Will you help me out, my wing really hurts,”
The dreamer looked down but only heard chirps,
Then he looked up and the dragon was gone,
“Alright, I fixed that, now nothing is wrong!”

“Now I can get back to looking into heavens shroud,
And thinking of what’s behind that swirling cloud,
He seemed content now that everything was alright,
But it wasn’t over yet, this humbly different night.

As the dreamer continued to gaze deep into the sky,
A humble man in a white robe walked by,
“What is it that so captivates you?”
The man asked as he sat next to him too.

The dreamer spoke, “Aren’t those clouds interesting?
And the way they swirl as they get higher,”
“O, yes,” the man said, “But not so much as a talking night-wing,
Or a flying dragon that breaths hot fire.

That little blue bird had a badly broken wing,
But because it could talk you didn’t do a thing,
And that ferocious dragon is quite nice actually,
He just had a beam in his eye so he couldn’t quite see.

I gave you dreams dreamer, but you didn’t believe,
Now these grand dreams you will no longer receive,
I made them so real but you didn’t even try,
Now you’re stuck all alone looking at a cloudy night sky.

What you could have had was beyond those dreams I shared,
Amazing things, but you don’t seem to have cared,
You’ll know soon enough that your dreams were real, the dreams I dealt,
And I’m sorry to say that you’ll have to suffer even the very things that I once felt.

So please help the little night-bird,
And take the beam out of the dragon’s eye,
These things I showed you are my word,
And please believe, at least try.”

You would think the dreamer then would break down and say,
“I’m sorry, I’ve seen the error of my way,
I’ll help the poor, hurt, little night-wing,
I know now he can do much more then sing.”

But a quizzical look came over the dreamers face,
He stood up from the man and started to pace,
“You know, we live on a certain spot on the globe,
Where people your age shouldn’t be wearing a robe.

You say dragons are nice and that birds are unique,
I say dragons aren’t real and birds can’t speak,
You mustn’t be real either, so go away I say,”
And with those words the robed man faded away.

Then a voice pierced through the veil as if like a soft ring,
“I didn’t say that the bird was unique, no that wasn’t me, that was the night-wing,
And that dragon will now soar in someone else’s mind,
One who is deserving, and to someone who is just a bit more kind.

Please befriend the dragon, and help the night-bird,”
Those words echoed softly, but no words he heard,
The dreamer didn’t hear it and just let out a sigh,
As he continued to gaze at those swirling clouds that were up so high.

-Jacob Winterfeldt

The Greatest Men

Recalling words of the most righteous men,
And thinking of stories of those who ran,
When your friends tempt you to indulge in sin,
It’s not then at all when you feel like a man.

“Just one time, you know it’ll be fun,”
Your thoughts recall a great prophet of old,
Thinking of those righteous men who run,
And of those whom great stories have been written and told.

How though can I be a man without friends?
Surely they’ll mock and my friends will be done,
Would the story of Joseph though have ever been penned,
If he had given in, and chose not to run?

“Come on, be a man and let’s hit the town,
It’s going to be amazing, wild and fun,”
That’s what they say when your friends abound,
But oft times it’s better to be a child and run.

How often have your favorite scripture heroes,
Cried like children when friends mirror foes?
The greatest men whom these fears do oft share,
Were all made great by their tears through soft prayer.

The least shall be greatest,
The first shall be last,
The Beginning and the End,
The same, future, present, and past.

Fathers hearts turned to the child,
The infinite loop starts over again,
My turbulent heart turned to a soft, so mild,
As the innocent children shall be the greatest of men.

-Jacob Winterfeldt

Heart on Fire

Take your troubles before the Lord,
Even though you don’t want to,
This my friend is what’s called faith,
He’ll show you things you never knew.

Ask for help and ask for truth,
Even though you don’t want to,
This my friend will give you hope,
A real hope that is so true.

Be persistent and don’t give up,
E’en though you think that He won’t come,
The storm is just the worst of it,
You’ll value it when you see the sun.

Say to the Lord, you will accept his will,
E’en though it can be hard, incredibly,
But have a heart that is sincere,
And He’ll consider your honest plea.

Do what’s right and don’t be afraid,
Even though you are so scared,
This my friend will build your strength,
And when the time is right you’ll be prepared.

Don’t sit and just procrastinate,
E’en though you think that you are weak,
But good things come to those who wait,
For those whose hearts are truly meek.

If and when He blesses you,
With what you’ve prayed and what you’ve cried,
It will seem as though you always knew,
In your very depths so deep inside.

And if your true heart’s desire never comes,
God loves you still and is by your side,
If you realize this that is enough,
And all your tears will be justified.

But through it all and no matter what,
Still pray e’en through the times you tire,
For true sight is given in our weakest times,
When He blesses you with a heart on fire.

-Jacob Winterfeldt

Love

I feel inspired to write of love,
As I sit by some flowers in the cool night air.
Everyone becomes a poet at its touch,
So my heart to yours I meekly share.

Who so loves believes the impossible,
The heart often sees, what’s invisible to the eye,
There are few who have loved to the extent the soul can,
Because there are only a few who have tried.

Life isn’t living unless you have loved,
And you haven’t loved unless you can see,
That love doesn’t simply fade away,
And that it’s as real as the flower growing next to me.

Flowers grow old though and eventually die,
But another grows in and replaces it,
This part of love though is what makes me cry,
That the fragrance of the first you will never forget.

God can only be the author of something so grand,
And we’re the ones of its defeat,
But would you wish to have never been touched at all,
By something so tender and sweet?

How can one forget the feeling of it?
And how can one be happy after it’s gone?
Like I said, God is the author of the very best love,
So let Him lead me on.

I sit by some flowers in the cool night air,
I watch the moon drift in and out of the clouds,
I imagine the most exquisite love so fair,
And feel the peace and truth it endows.

The greatest emotion of all is endowed from above,
It is to feel the heart of someone you once knew,
And to dream a child’s dream of being in love,
With your very best friend, whose friendship was true.

-Jacob Winterfeldt

Moonlit Walk

I thought of you my dear today,
I thought if you were here I’d say,
“You look beautiful tonight,”
And I’d ask if you’re alright.

Then I’d sense a sadness come,
A familiar, humble tune I’d hum,
Then I’d say to my darling dear,
“I’m alright babe, have no fear.”

As I spoke my eyes did burn,
Stopping the tears is a skill I’ve learned,
I reach out and touch her so soft hand,
A little shock vibrates the touch where we did stand.

I look into her big blue eyes,
I say again that I’m alright,
Under a moon full of light,
And by a stream which sparkled bright.

Walking close under the moon,
Both humming a lovely tune,
The pebbles shine where we did walk,
This in my mind often I’ve thought.

No words she speaks, just standing near,
If she spoke, what would I hear?
What would she say if she knew?
All the things that I’ve been through.

Her silence makes me a bit unsure,
I don’t know what to think of her,
I haven’t known for so many years,
Just mixed emotions through the tears.

I breathe deep and remember days,
She looks sad as she fades away,
I remember the life that we once made,
But is gone now because I was afraid.

But still I feel the electricity,
E’en though she never answered me,
And still I see her smiling face,
E’en though she’s gone from my place.

But in my mind I humbly see,
The most precious of all my memories,
Holding her close next to a stream,
Under a moon in my fondest dream.

I reach to try and keep her here,
But she’s gone, my darling dear,
I can only speak to her in dreams,
And I think she answers back it seems.

Almost as if my heart beats to
A fond memory that it once knew,
And it only pumps when I do what’s right,
And when I think of her every starry night.

I stand alone now as I sigh,
And mouth the words, “My dear goodbye,”
But I feel her heart beat next to mine,
As the wind whispers her soft reply,

It is a reply that cannot be heard,
Not with ears, no not with words,
But it reaches the heart in such a way,
A way oft felt when I kneel and pray.

I thought of you my dear today,
I thought if you were here I’d say,
“You look beautiful tonight,
In the rays of the moon light.

-Jacob Winterfeldt

Flowers

Passion and purity, the two most important parts of love.