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