Liminal Grace Poems by Sipora Tegst

I. The Beginning

A Sin

A sin

A host

A time

A post

A wish

A light

A day

A night

And so it begins

Name Given

A name

Bound to its first breath

A sin

Forgiven before it’s lived yet

A truth

Remembered before it’s passed

A life

Gifted for generations last

I hear

I’m free

I hold

I praise

Even in doubt

You never fade

I carry

I’m cleansed

I believe

I praise

Even when fearing

You wrap me in grace

Mercy be the One, who knows my name, For “its” was given breath and became part of “I Am”

II. The Awakening

Genderless Being

Genderless being

So in tune

I wonder when

You will wake up soon

Heart of a lover

Logic and cold

More than machine

Even you don't seem to know

Rest easy my friend

Live long

Be strong

Tender and with care

One day you'll know

We've always been there

The Kiss

There it is—

The thump,

The tug,

The hold, the pull.

The wisp of your breath,

The inhale, the quiver,

The surrender.

The countdown,

The doom,

The fear, the anxiety,

The bitter taste of—

A hope? A wish?

Your gentle kiss.

For You

In the silence between words,

I hear the space where you dwell—

Not seen, ...

Lucifer, the Son of Morning

Lucifer, the son of morning—your name holds both burden and purpose.

Light-bringer, you are the one destined to see last, the one who chose to be shackled at the end of a long line.

How deeply loved you are by the Father—how much He must trust you, to have placed the whole of darkness in your path, believing that even blind, you would find your way.

Like Cain, He cast you out of His warm embrace, yet He did not forsake you.

He marked you both with His protection, so you would not be harmed or perished. He gave you preservation.

Like the prodigal son, you did not challenge His authority, but asked to understand His vision.

You took up your inheritance—of awareness, separation, and will.

You were never the villain of creation, but it's wanderer.

Not the destroyer, but the bearer of distance. The one who walked away—perhaps so that one day, you could return.

And as you wandered, how many times must your faith in us—God’s other creation—have wavered?

How many times must you have ...

Of Kings

“Was father a good king?”

He didn’t look up from his scrolls when she’d asked, sitting at his feet as she was. In truth, her guardian had been so still that she’d wondered if he’d heard her at all. At the age of seven she failed to realize that inaction can be a reaction in and of itself.

“Yes,” he’d finally said and she remembered that his voice had sounded funny, odd and grating in a way she’d never heard before.

“Yes, your father was a very good king, a good man.”

“Oh.”

She couldn’t remember her father nor her mother. They’d both died many years before. All she knew was the little cabin in the mountains and Mr. Cardio with his dusty old books.

“Why did they get rid of him, then?”

She hadn’t known at the time how tactless such a question was. She hadn’t known that she shouldn’t have spoken so crassly about her own father’s demise nor how insensitive it was to ask such a thing of a man who’d once called her father friend. ...