Selected poetry · Published collection
Poetry from Sonflowers
Seven poems exploring spiritual struggle, sorrow, service, Scripture, healing, and the stubborn hope that God can bring life from suffering.
Written by A.M. Childs
Originally published in 2021
ISBN 979-8-7442-5361-5
01 Spiritual warfare · perseverance Shooting Range An extended metaphor for sanctification: naming the forces that wound us, fighting beside the Father, and choosing to finish the race.
I bring the sight up to my eye
My finger steady on the trigger, I let out a sigh
To ready myself for the next target that lies.
“SHOW ME THE TARGET, LORD”
Out springs Sorrow, dark down to the marrow, I catch his eye as I feel
sweat drip down my forehead
The lead in my gun itching to jump
Thump thump thump, goes my heart, the darkness feeling as if it’s
devouring me
I look to the Lord and see brightly
The love He has for me
My eyes focused
My heart steady
My … finger … ready …
WHRUMP
Sorrow falls down to the ground. Sadly not feeling anything, it comes to a
cold stop.
Another one dead, I reload
TINNNN—CLACK-CHK
“SHOW ME ANOTHER, LORD”
Anger charges at me
I can hardly make out their horns of black
and no lack of muscle painted red all around
with a fierce stare.
I stumble with my gun and almost drop it to the ground
As I reposition it on my stand, I wonder how I’ll fare!
How can I stop this beast that charges with the force of the wind?!
It’s too close now
30 feet
5!
…
The space around me freezes.
I glance at the one next to me,
He reassures me as I look back at the figure
how slow he is approaching…and
how quick the Lord is to love me.
Slowly and without worry I pick off the fierce beast of Anger,
its burly arms swinging like an axe to the ground before me.
WHRUMP
TINNNN—CLACK-CHK
Invigorated, I shout:
“Are there anymore, Lord?
Send them now if there are! Let me go off my own!
I’M READY FOR THEM”
Thanks be to God,
that He didn’t follow my instructions.
I look out to the horizon
and see others to kill…
The Fear Twins, mirroring my nightmares
The Whore of Depression, so enticing
Worry, glancing from the darkness from where it came to the light that
encompasses my nest.
Anxiety, Envy, Pride and all the rest
come running towards me,
with more waiting to be unleashed.
But the Lord instructs me to handle them
one by one.
.
.
.
.
.
Fear comes stumbling in,
But with courage in my heart and my Father next to me,
I viciously destroy the monsters.
WHRUMP
Depression crawls slowly away
WHRUMP
Worry ducks in-between cover
WHRUMP
Envy asks to see my gun “I just want to see!”
WHRUMP
Pride says, “you can’t catch me”
WHRUMP
Lust calls me, to “come down and join them”
WHRUMP
WHRUMP
WHRUMP
WHRUMP
My finger is exhausted,
I’m tempted to stop
How can I possibly keep fighting?
There’s so many
I’m sure it’ll take my whole life
To stop these fiends…
So I look to my Father
And silently ask for reassurance,
He points to a tree
And then looks upon me
Saying: “Finish the Race, faithful son.”
And with a smile on my face,
I understand
What I must do.
I look back at the forest,
TINNNN—CLACK-CHK
“Show me another target, Lord”.
02 Visual poetry · creation · form 1.618 A visual poem shaped by the Golden Ratio and the Fibonacci spiral, following the movement of Genesis 1 from formlessness toward ordered creation.
03 Hosea · justice · mercy Anger A compact meditation on the emotional complexity of divine love, moving through anger and sorrow toward mercy.
I asked the Lord
More than once or twice
To help me understand His Heart
And after many hours praying,
All I felt was Anger.
Confused by this response
I thought to pray more than once
To see truly what He must feel
When He sees this World,
And all I felt was Sorrow.
I was confused by this
Why is this God of peace
So full of Fire and Ice
So angry and yet sad?
And then I read Hosea.
I see His love for His Children
I understand His duty to Justice
I cherish His Compassion
And then I asked the Lord for His Heart
- And all I felt was Love.
04 Service · exhaustion · grace Calloused Hands The collection’s centerpiece: a poem about the desire to serve, the danger of self-erasure, and the grace that teaches wounded hands to rest.
These hands, O these hands
They are rough and they are tough
Keep the fight sure enough!
These hands wanted to do good work, and they did. They protected the
one I loved, they held her affectionately, they played with her hair. They
touched her back and massaged the worries away. They were gentle and
careful.
They wanted the best for her, no matter what they felt like.
These hands, O these hands
Caress and assess her condition
Love her and rest? No need of a Physician!
These hands need to sacrifice to be a Good Man, and that was no burden.
It was a privilege to serve, it was a privilege to appreciate. This woman
deserves love, she deserves care. Never mind for that crack in the skin,
keep working, it’ll pass on.
These hands, O these hands
Relax not, for He heals
Sacrifice all, regardless of how he feels.
These hands held up the poor one and clasped together to proclaim
liberty to those hurt. What an honor to suffer for Christ! What a privilege
to hurt. Let your blood be mine, and let me work as you did. Yes, what a
privilege! Bind those broken hearts, release the prisoners, they need it!
For you have the grace, so don’t worry about those hands, they need not
be too careful. There is work to be done, for the workers are few and the
harvest plentiful! Don’t mind that scar, keep working little one!
These hands, O these hands
Less effective, slowly come…
Come now come, more work to be done!
These hands ache, but, they need not worry,
for more service, more cup overflow, that is the medication…
Keep going, run the race, not to worry!
It’ll go away, just keep going!
Pour out
Run
Serve
Day And
Night
Night
AND DAY
GO!
GO!
GO!
…
These hands, O these hands
Pain sweeps over as blood
Living Water, in need of a flood.
Aching, I love
Aching, I work
What else is there?
Aching, I serve
Aching, I persevere
Where to go?
Aching, I walk
Aching, I crawl
Abba …
Aching, I fall
Aching, I think of Saul
I need to end it, end it all.
Aching hands, Aching hands
The race is not over, but I am.
My life is crippled, my hands, they bleed
But,
I AM.
Graceful Abba, O Graceful Abba
Help me rest these hands
Covered in blisters
Painted with blood.
Graceful Abba, O Graceful Abba
Protect me, as with a glove
Descend on me as a dove
Cover me cover me, in perfect
Love.
05 John 11 · grief · compassion δακρύω A ten-part biblical interpretation of John 11 that moves between human anguish and the compassion of Christ. The title points to the Greek word used in John 11:35.
1. Outside.
Now a certain person was ill
No one but I knew of their disease.
A man was seen pondering out a window sill
His eyes wavering with a sense of dis-ease
He had given up on the Lord’s plan
And his sorrow contracted into a span.
A woman was also sick in quite a different way
She feared what others thought about her
Her fears of herself did on her weigh
Evil prompts to infer, to this she did concur
She started to believe the lies
So in her own tears she chose to baptize.
This sickness that attacks their brains
So hard to see but too easy to feel
They walk around with their stains
And before the defeated enemy they kneel
They stare blankly at the wall thinking
They cough, call it fate, and keep on drinking.
2. Inside.
No one but I knew why they felt this way
But how they truly felt is only known by them.
On this earth, they reason that all they do is decay
In youth they knew joy, only to be cut by the stem.
Now they hope to find some pleasure in leisure
And by rotten treasure their happiness they measure.
They don’t feel like they can get close
To those that they love the most
All their hurts they hope not to impose
So they hide themselves like a ghost
And linger close to the pains of the pass
And stare deeply disgusted, into broken shards of glass.
And they hate themselves most of all
Hurting themselves in order to punish
They come up short like Saul
Scowling themselves silently, their lack they admonish
They are afraid, ashamed, insecure, and tired
All by themselves, they feel undesired.
3. Foolishness.
I am truly sorrowed by how they felt
But they know their troubles all too well
Only God knows what each is dealt
And no other knows, no matter how loud they yell.
They look to God and wonder
“If you are the light, then where is the thunder?”
4. Confusion.
In the midst of all their despair
They think to cry out to the Lord
Hoping He will hear their prayer
They shout hoping not to be ignored:
“Lord, I hurt! Let this by my last breath.”
He replies: “This illness does not lead to death.”
5. Despair.
He said that this is for the glory of God,
And for them to not think this is the end.
They found this to be very odd,
Because how can one dead make an amend?
Rather than living, they would be buried underground
To be hidden in their own separate mound.
“Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.
But even now I know that whatever you ask from God, God will give you.”
6. Hope.
And yet, even now they choose to trust!
I asked them whether they want to follow
They don’t only want to obey, but must
They choose to live rather than to wallow
So just as the vines support the limb
“Let us also go, that we may die with him”
7. Clarity.
They hear the Lord say in My Word:
“O my Children, O my Beloved!
I tell you, do not let your hearts be stirred
Let calloused hands in my love be gloved.”
Could it be that their hearts are lifted?
Could it be that it is I they are gifted?
8. Wisdom.
They reflect: “The Lord even says unto me
That all of this suffering that has occurred
Well, all of it was meant to be!
And for our sake he is glad that we endured
That we may with Him truly believe
But even now he wishes my pain to relieve … ”
9. Inside.
Then I hear My people cry:
“Lord, O Lord, if you had been here,
my brother would not have died!”
Am I not always, My dear?
Don’t my people understand
That I hold them in My hand?
My heart twists in dejection
My knees fall weak, dakryō
Facing sin-filled infection
Holding with joy the Cruel Rose
-Seeking My Father’s Relief-
Only I can change this grief.
My own people shout at Me
“Look! See how He loved this man,
He had made the blind man see,
So this was really His plan?!”
My heart burns. I AM the Groom.
My eyes rise, I face the tomb.
10. Outside.
I see the tomb where they lie,
Preparing for my own stone
“It’s worth it, you shall not die
For all these sins I will atone.
And none shall doubt my yearning,
My love for you is burning.”
My heart in Me still crying
I look at what sins had done
To cause My child to be lying …
“Now let your sins be as none,
I know about your disease …
Child I love, be at ease.”
“Child, O Child, I cry,”…
I cry too, right beside you …
“Child, from this crypt you lie
Come out! You are made anew.”
In sorrow My mercy flows …
“Unbind them, and let them go.”
06 Luke 8 · persona poem · freedom The Man From Whom The Demons Had Gone. Luke 8:26–39 retold from the healed man’s perspective—from isolation and shame to freedom, worship, and witness.
Here I crawl on my knees
My jaw in the dirt
My heart mixed in hurt.
Nothing to cover my shame,
Not even clothes.
I live with the dead
And walk like them too.
My wrists
They bleed from rocks
I know not
what I do.
Chains around my hands
Spit in my beard
Nothing can hold me.
I was defeated.
I was possessed.
I was dead.
Dead.
.
.
.
My eyes in the dirt
Drinking my tears
Something tears me
To look on to the coast
I see You far off
Coming closer…
Anger.
Mixed with shame approaches me too
Who am I that He looks at me?
You walk closer to me, gazing
With love..
And affection…
….And I wonder why.
I am a man, leave me here to die
You draw near to me?
Can’t you see? I’m made to die!
Wretched Man am I, can’t you see!?
Stay away for I’m bruised and I bleed
…
But to my surprise
So do you
….And I wonder why.
Your walk is slow and it’s comforting
Why, why do you come for me?
You walk up to me
I see the love in those eyes
So calm
So bright
All I can do is watch
And see
As you address not me
but the things that
keep me up at night
The Worry.
The Sadness.
The Depression.
The Hurt.
The Despair.
The Anxiety.
The Regret.
The Guilt.
A whole Legion of Sins
And say
“Out now
And don’t return!”
I fall on my knees
Not sure what to do
My hands are clean
And my eyes are bright
And I look at you
And ask …
“Why?”
You say,
“Child
I love you.
That’s all,
that’s all.”
.
.
.
I sit here at your feet,
Shirt buttoned up,
Hair in line,
Pants pressed,
Eyes fixed on you.
Nothing to fear,
Nothing to sweat.
I sit here at your feet,
Ask you what’s next,
But you’re on your boat,
And sailing away….
I call out to you
To stay
And you turn to me and say,
“Go Child, now
You can talk to me every day,
All you need do is pray.
Now go, and spread the news
And tell them all of what I did
for you.
And now I must go,
But worry not,
There is a helper fit to lead you,
Where you need to go.”
I watch you disappear
And it’s weird.
You’re still here,
But closer.
My heart swells,
My legs kick up dust
I run,
I run,
I run.
I shout,
I scream:
“Gather around
Everyone!
And hear of what I have seen!
A Possessed Man Free A Woman as guilty as Thee
A Sinner saved in his Plea The Dry Shrub turned Tree
The Way The Life The Key
Come now, come!
Sing and be carefree!
All He wants is to Love Thee,
And as you bend thy Knee..
become Free, yes…you will see.
Free, I say.
Free.”
07 Luke 18 · prayer · poetic form Persistent Prayer A shaped meditation on the persistent widow, the unjust judge, and the greater generosity of a good Father.
The Widow bothers the Judge
Attacking with requests
Looking for Justice
He refuses
Everytime
And yet …
Stop!
Leave me!
I give in!
Like a boxer
I have been beaten
Black and blue constantly
I give in to your request
How much more is your God
Willing to answer!
He was beaten
Black and blue
To save
You.