SCRAPS OF MY SOUL

 

Dedicated to all who feel unseen by a world in a hurry,

yet remain cherished in the quiet presence of God.

 

“Cast me not off in the time of old age; forsake me not

when my strength faileth.” — Psalm 71:9

 

They set me on the curb at dusk,

a chipped frame, a rusted key,

Deciding rust is all I am,

forgetting I was once the tree.

Out of sight and out of mind,

The busy street rolls quickly by.

To call me useless suits them well –

a folded page, a breathless reply.

No factory needs my hands today,

No ledger counts the hours I give.

They measure worth in what is made,

and overlook the way I live.

Yet loneliness is not the end,

though silence sits beside my chair.

I sit beneath a large clock

and breathe the quiet, waiting air.

Let world-bound eyes see empty space,

a piece of trash left in the cold;

But I am not trash to Him who knows

how pure gold looks when it grows old.

No longer driven, no longer rushed,

Now I rest my spirit in His grace.

Unproductive to the street,

but cherished in a higher place.

 

Thomas Theophilus© September 25, 2026

PETRICHOR

 

The Loudest Kind of Quiet

Rain in an Empty vessel

The Scent of Standing Alone

Alone in the Open

Memories & Truth

What Rain Washes Up

Honeysuckle and Hollows

Where the Storm Left Me

Noticeably Absent

The Air After You Left

Only the Dirt Listens

A Solitary Downpour

The Scent of Missing You

Love in the Downpour

Honeysuckle and Soft Goodbyes

What We Kept in the Wet Dirt

The Half Life of Loving You

Rain-Soaked Longing

Where Love Stormed Through

The Rain Can't Wash Away Ache

Drenched in You . . .

The Distance Between Drops

After my Heart Breaks

I am Still Wet with You!

 

Thomas Theophilus© September 24, 2026

THE GUARD IS CHANGING

 

A shift in the wind, a tear in the veil,

The heavy-handed kings grow frail.

The gold they hoarded, thick with rust,

Is turning back to barren dust.

For too long, shadows ruled the throne,

And claimed the earth as theirs alone.

They built their towers high and steep,

While promising the tired sleep.

But justice has a quiet tread,

A steady spark where hope was dead.

The keys are falling from their hands,

A quiet storm across the lands.

The guard is changing in the light—

The reign is taken from the night.

The crown stripped bare of greed and lies,

Now placed beneath untainted skies.

What once was stolen is returned,

From ash and fire, lessons learned.

The meek inherited what was lost,

No longer paying others' cost.

The righteous step into space,

With open hands and grounded grace.

The night yields slowly, but yield it must:

Kingdoms will soon lie in forgotten dust.

 

Thomas Theophilus© September 23, 2026

ON YOUR BEHALF

 

I climbed the mountain

I sailed the sea,

But was it all about me?

I swam the river

I shot the arrows quiver,

But to love it didn’t deliver!

I walked a silent path

I am pleased on your behalf,

But nothing will last!

I once broke your heart

I almost fell apart,

But forgiveness must start!

I wonder where this is going,

And that’s quite annoying!

 

Thomas Theophilus© September 22, 2026

A DIGITAL BLEED

 

Numbers click like an endless clock,

Flashing lights on neon signs lock –

We trade our hours just to turn the key,

Roads built with sweat, but far from free!

The meter jumps – a digital bleed,

Filling a gas tank that’s built on greed!

We spend our lives to turn the wheel,

Pay at the pump to cross the hill!

Hundreds of bucks to drive a mile,

To work a job for a little while . . .

No real choices – pay what’s on the sign

We pull our hair – we lose our mind!

Corporate greed with endless earnings,

But what are our children learning?

No trains to catch, no bus to wait –

Endless miles to the next toll gate!

Our bank account numbers in decline

The digital meters leap and climb –

So, pull the trigger, lock the steel,

Pay the price to turn the wheel –

We swap our sweat to turn the key,

Only in America, where we are free!

 

Thomas Theophilus© September 21, 2026

LIFE STRIPPED AWAY

 

The door of life opens without a name,

And the endless debts we leave unpaid –

The words held back, the unignited flame,

And gentle hands we lifted or delayed!

As time casts light upon our stone,

We stand stripped bare, yet still unknown . . .

An unvarnished image lost in our mind,

But who, if any, has the right to fret?

Life strips away status, wealth and time

Leaving only intentions, love, and regret!

Just wait, the hourglass will run dry –

The page will turn, the thread unraveled;

Our quit days just keep rolling on by,

And no one saw the roads we traveled!

The scales are tipped by no earthly claim,

No money or title can clear the ledger;

The light demands no grand acclaim,

But measures love with a quieter measure

Each hidden motive, each quiet grace,

Stands clear at last in that final place.

 

Thomas Theophilus© September 20, 2026

FLAMES OF PASSION

Fire does not ask permission from a spark

It burns away quietly in the night;

It only knows the hunger of the dark,

And the soul, a taunting need to become light.

It is the needle that pulls against the thread,

An endless need before the sadness unfolds,

And it refuses to leave a single word unsaid,

Or let the quiet embers gather cold!

Feeling of blood running through our veins,

And follows where a gentle spirit goes—

Unaware of the danger or the pain,

Consumed entirely by the flame it chose.

Fire does not ask permission from a spark,

And neither does it care about the heart!

 

Thomas Theophilus© September 19, 2026