So, it’ll be another poetry Saturday. The Narnia Project has seemed very well received, so I decided to share some poems I wrote based on one of C.S. Lewis’s lesser known books: Till We Have Faces.

The first of these is a palindrome, meaning it can be read both forward and backwards. The fun thing about this one was that reading it forward, you get the perspective of Orual, the narrator of the book, and backwards, you get the perspective of her sister Psyche.

I will warn you though, this was one of my first attempts at a palindrome, and to this day, I can’t figure out how to do the punctuation right so that it fits both forwards and backwards. So on your way from bottom to top, maybe just pay a bit more attention to the words than the punctuation.

I gave everything up—for you.
I loved you more than myself, 
Or so I thought. 
Our love was beyond cruelty—
Or was I wrong?
Sisters who shared one heart;
I was yours,
You were mine.
I thought you knew what it meant:
The truth of what really happened,
I saw with my eyes, too.
I had a heart that hurt, as well.
It was noble, it was hard,
Always speaking of the Mountain,
Always of the lover,
Never taking thought of me.
Did I do something wrong
To make you hate me so?
Am I wrong now?
I thought I understood love
Until the knife flashed and the lamp lit.
I thought I saw clearly,
But only through a darkened glass,
Blinded into thinking I knew. 
Cruelty, cruelty, all the world is cruel!
You betrayed me, light of my eyes.
You stole my happiness
With your pride and joy.
The Mountain calls us both
To judgment now.
You love and yet you hate: 
What other reason could you have?
You loved another before me,
The faceless beast,
In the unseen dark
Deceiving those it takes—
I grieve for you in those hands.
I lost you, you left me.
Bitter are the fates of this life.

This next one was a prompt for Poetry Month in 2025. I believe the word was “rending,” and since I’d just been reading Till We Have Faces, while it wasn’t necessarily about the story, imagery from the book (including the quote “Why should your heart not dance?”) made it into the poem.

A breaking brings not joy, but greater pain
And feels like all the world is set to end.
What from a rending could be hoped to gain?
Why must the tear come first before the mend?

I’ve been through loss, I’ve known my share of grief,
I felt betrayed when traitors there were not. 
I clung to hurt and would not let relief
Make my heart dance. Instead, I was distraught. 

Why must the rending be the means of growth?
Must strength come always through consuming ache?
I’ll follow You; to leave I would be loathe,
But hold me, God, so that I do not break. 

As I look back, I see Your hand of grace.
When sorrow comes, may it show me Your face. 

My favorite quote from this book is

“I know now, Lord, why you utter no answer. You are yourself the answer. Before your face questions die away. What other answer would suffice?”

~C.S. Lewis

It’s reminiscent of the end of the book of Job, when Job says to God,

“I have heard of You by the hearing of the ear,

But now my eye sees You.

~Job 42:5, NKJV

Today, in the meantime, I decided to share a bit of the lore that much of my writing is centered around. If you’ve read my short story in Firefly Tales, you’ll recognize a name in there: Enna. Fun fact: Enna is not only the name of the younger sister in “Songs of Sun and Stars,” but is also the name of one of the most significant stars in my lore, another reference to the blue star that symbolizes Childhood Apraxia of Speech, one of my sister’s disabilities.

And speaking of Firefly Tales, for a quick update, it’s continuing to do fairly well. It has sunk down to #18 in Amazon bestsellers, so sales have gone down a bit, but considering that we’re not making any money off of it whatsoever, it’s not really about how many copies we sell. We just want to get our stories into the world and hope and pray they can touch someone’s life. If you’re interested in seeing what Firefly Tales is all about, I’ve included a link above. But now back to my lore.

This is meant to be a song, perhaps a traditional song sung by Immortals. In fact, I even wrote it inspired by an instrumental Celtic melody. I do hope to put my own music to it someday, though.

As a result, I’m not entirely certain how it will read as a straight poem. So, if you can, try to see it more as a song. Try to sing it to your own melody. When I do put original music to it, maybe I’ll find a way to share it here.

So, without further ado, “The Land I Called My Home.”

O for days of glory,  this song hereby I sing;
When the queen beside the water  would walk with her king,
And the echoes of the song of stars  from spheres thence would ring
On the shores of the land  that I once called my home.

There, the wind was laden  with scents of all that grew,
And Enna's shining brightness  turned all deepest blue;
When the realms were just created  and the world was still new
On the shores of the land  that I once called my home.

In the misty morning,  a golden haze would shine,
And I blessed the world around me  for this home was mine.
And now for sweetest days,  my heart forever pines,
For the shores of the land  that I once called my home. 

Once in fair Yaraysa,  forever we would walk.
We would sing of calls given  to protect feeble flocks,
And all the days we gathered,  of heroes we would talk
On the shores of the land  that I once called my home. 

Now that place is vanished,  consumed by blackened souls.
No Mortal shall remember  from book or from scroll.
And yet I, Immortal,  asunder have been pulled
From the shores of the land  that I once called my home. 

To that wondrous beauty,  I have bid farewell;
But still a glimpse remains,  though my homeland fell.
Of this, I shall now sing;  forever I will tell
Of the shores of the land  that I once called my home. 

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But that doesn’t mean the dark doesn’t affect me, either. Even since daylight savings, it’s been harder to get out of bed, and I’ve lacked so much motivation for really anything except curling up with a blanket and reading books. I used to think the changing seasons, “the dying year,” as Longfellow called it, didn’t have any impact on me, but it does.

As much as I relish the change in weather, last year, the winter felt like a grave, waiting for new life to be breathed in and restore my dry bones.

And yet, there’s still so much beauty to be found in the season. There’s Christmas lights, feasting, and flurries of snow that make it look like I’m living in a snow globe. There’s afternoons with friends when it’s too snowy to go out and do anything, so we watch movies at home and make snow cream.

I don’t know if winter was in God’s original plan for the universe, but I know that death wasn’t. And yet, He used the very thing that was a punishment for our sin to bring grace, resurrection. He turned something wicked and devastating into our source of healing.

Isn’t it funny how so much light can be seen in the darkest season, how much life is found in the death of a year?

So I decided to write a poem about it that I want to share with you. But before I get to the poem, I want to share what inspired these thoughts in the first place. Because while the words are mine, the ideas were a mashing up of several things I’ve been reading, and I want to give credit where credit is due.

First of all, King Solomon. In Ecclesiastes, he wrote,

“Better is the end of a thing than the beginning thereof: and the patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit.” (Ecclesiastes 7:8)

Another source of inspiration is my dear friend Elsie Coppedge on her blog “Barefoot Kid.” She wrote a beautiful piece on winter and finding light amidst the darkness, which was what sparked this entire train of thought in the first place. Please read it, because she has such a wonderful way with words that feels like poetry, even within her prose.

Barefoot Kid

And the darkness cannot overcome it.

The days have been getting shorter and shorter. Today the sun slunk down behind our hills at 15:50. In many ways, it is a rather sad, depressing season. The sun (if we ever see it) is gone by mid-afternoon, it’s often grey and rainy, and the temperatures are below freezing. Sometimes, as I look out the window at the darkness, I find it hard to remember …

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7 months ago · 15 likes · 4 comments · Elsie Coppedge

Thirdly, I’ve been reading a series of fantasy books by Bryan Davis, which consists of three series all set in the same world. I just finished the second of the three series, Oracles of Fire, and that series ends with an epic, 674 page book called The Bones of Makaidos. This book in particular deals with some powerful themes of death, waiting, and resurrection that tied in very well with my musings on winter and endings. I borrowed a bit of imagery from the story, mainly the part about bones.

So, after that very long introduction, allow me to share my poem, entitled “Waiting For Life.”

The autumn days now darken as they die.

They breathe their last as winter takes their place;

In nature’s grave, the bones of spring will lie.

The icy wind is Earth’s exhaling sigh,

Lamenting years now gone without a trace.

The autumn days now darken as they die.

An ending comes, another day gone by:

They circle in the world’s appointed race.

In nature’s grave, the bones of spring will lie.

Yet still, a song is in November’s cry!

A promise to restore in death’s own face.

The autumn days now darken as they die,

But while we wait for life, still peace is nigh:

The stars alight on Earth from farthest space.

In nature’s grave, the bones of spring will lie.

Without a death to make our bodies dry,

No resurrection could revive through grace.

The autumn days now darken as they die;

In nature’s grave, the bones of spring will lie.

Well, that’s all for today. I hope you’re enjoying Lady of the Larke so far. If you are, please share it with a friend!

And once again, a quick reminder about Firefly Tales: it’s still in the top 10 lists of bestsellers and new releases for fantasy short stories on Amazon. If you’re looking for Christmas ideas for family and friends, there’s a little something in this book for everyone, no matter what you like to read. You can find it here. And if you’ve read it and like it, please consider leaving a review!

The eastern sky aglow with red of dawn:

Clouds streak across the color, God’s own paint.

Yet in my musing, westward gaze is drawn,

And what I see makes my heart quail and faint:

For blackened clouds are brooding, lightning spawned.

Both horizons wage

Their shows in a war.

Battles ancient rage

As thunder joins the war.

As I reflect and ponder what I see,

I wonder which side will be crowned at last.

The sky that is now straight above is free,

But freedom soon shall be of blessed past.

The sun is rising, soon the clouds to meet

As both horizons wage

Their shows in a war.

Battles ancient rage

As thunder joins the war.

As I look east, I see the future day

As one with warnings rolling from the west,

When everlasting light shall come arrayed

With darkness as His feet. I feel my chest

Beat with the trumpet, ringing out to say,

“As both horizons wage

Their shows in a war,

Battles ancient rage

As holy thunder joins the war.”

I hope you enjoyed the poem and the pictures I took that morning. Would you be interested in having more poetry featured on the blog? Let me know in the comments!