Peter

A broken heart

Now three times mended

Moves beyond the past offenses

Loved and cherished

Bruised with care

Vibrant now

No sickness bears

The woeful loss

Is now regained

With stronger tones-

A new refrain

Of hope and joy

And life matured

A soulful turn

A new-found world.

Some days I feel...

Like you and me and everyone
Are waiting for a flawless moment
When the imperfect is far more joyous...

Like days and nights
All get mixed together
Into tangled catastrophe...

Like first and last
Are just quirky counterparts
On an unfinished track to somewhere...

Like unbroken sleep
Is a balm of pure mystery
That continually evades me...

Like my mind will split wide open
Like the first time I read Dickens or Whitman
To which no modern words can compare...

Like time waits incessantly for us
But can not pause to carry us along
If we tarry where we should not...

Like I can see with a thousand eyes
The light that pierces deeply
With sureness that never fails...

Like I want to scream the truth
Even to those who won't hear it
Who grope in the depths of numbness...

Like change is my favorite ride
Oh! The newness and feel of it
I long for it so...

Like everyone is just going to
Drift away on a golden sea
I don't belong to...

Do I graciously give up and flee
Or bravely stay and fight?
I just don't know...
I just don't know...

Peaceable

A yielded hand shows so much more than intended:
Subtle submission of love-
Requited or not- no matter
Peaceably, even illustriously, joined
In tight declaration of what is
And could be
So much more than intended
But so much less than what is possible...

Renewal

Whispers sweet and fluid like breeze-drifting nomads
Lay a foundation firm and poised
For renewal.
Those who will redefine old places and spaces stained with dirt
And tears,
Those who will restore worn faces and chase the devastated
With patient resolve,
Those who will sacrifice everyhing they are for a justice not their own
Will walk here, upon this foundation of whispers
So quiet and unyielding.

Sweet necessity, sweet protection.

The whispers live on
And grow in abundance
With time.

Gray is the color of today.

Yesterday the bloom was bright.
Tomorrow will bring more silence.
But gray is the color of today-
Its winding thoughts and melancholic temper,
It's tender admonition of dullness
And dispassionate existence.

Yesterday was brilliant with plummage and color so strong
It shone like a million silver moons in reflective harmony.
And tomorrow is a steady drum beat of unknowingness, silent and ready.
It has prepared (we know not what),
And waits to pounce with deafening sureness.

But gray is the color of today.
And all I want is escape.

Subtle Discourse

Epic is the discourse of my heart
In my own little world, my own small time.
A grand scale it would be to weigh
All the hopes and dreams there fondly kept, there nurtured.
And should I hope to outlast the bravest and best,
My pursuit must be sure and quick;
For they could envelop the whole world
And not leave an inch of my heart intact.

Peace

Peace is like the constant hum of a moonbeam on a shadowed evening.
It lights a great ocean with soft notes that give life and depth.
It consumes the darkness in a quiet way,
So that you wouldn’t notice it.
Except on those pitch-black nights
When the world is so silent, even crickets are afraid to chirp their songs
And disturb the heaviness.
You don’t miss it till it’s gone-
And then the ache is nearly unbearable, and its return seems uncertain.
But still it is constant. And quietly present.
It summons a man from darkness to light, from peril to safety.
It sets about him as a gentle rolling wind sifts through reeds lingering at a grassy bank.
It has been, even in the heaviest night, the settled beacon of hope and rest.
Underneath the bleakness, it waits to be remembered again,
Acknowledged for its necessity.
But that man does not perceive it does not change its potency.
It is strong and courageous, steadfast and hopeful.
It provides structure and purpose as we dance in its light,
Like a moonbeam on a shadowed evening.

Sleep.

Cast away the weary words of today,
That they may rest in peace elsewhere.
They can not make their home here
Where sweet sleep awaits,
And dreams long to drift on
Melted memories of the day.
Sleep deeply, as you cast away
The weary words of today,
That they may rest in peace
Far away from you.
Far away from you.

The (American) Bride

Once a daughter, silent sleeping
Woke unto a blissful sight-
That she had grown through wont and weeping
To become a bride of striking might.

Ran she from her ample slumber,
Calling dawn with steady chords;
“Lie we no more, tarry, lumber,
Draw we now our battle swords!”

‘Twas grace that taught her heart to sing,
Selfless love that gave her purpose;
Humility bought that precious ring
For which her heart e’er searchest.

Oh, take my heart and make me better,
Take my heart and make me bold.
Bind my spirit in richest fetter,
And give my hand a ring of gold.

Too long ago, before she slept,
She knew her ardent lover.
Too soon thereafter, ran she off
To the tight grip of another.

Stubborn she, and often selfish,
Trusting not her bridegroom’s way,
Levees built to stay her passion
Long ago had given way.

So, lumbered she, encumbered greatly
With riches, comfort, charm-ed life,
Until the burden proved too heavy
For the bridegroom’s ailing wife.

Never was she meant to carry
Such a load of toil and strain;
But thought she this would win the favor
Of her groom, His heart’s refrain.

Oh, take my heart and make me better,
Take my heart and make me bold.
Bind my spirit in richest fetter,
And give my hand a ring of gold.

Thus she slumbered in her working,
Never peaceful, forging on;
So slowly did she come to realize
She had His true love all along.

And, as she wandered, bleakly peering,
Searching to and tossing fro,
She sensed His ever-lasting Spirit
Lead her where she longed to go.

“Oh! Lead me farther into glory,
Make my face to shine and glow;
Dress me proud in white-washed linen
To match my heart of purest snow.”

Oh, take my heart and make me better,
Take my heart and make me bold.
Bind my spirit in richest fetter,
And give my hand a ring of gold.

Her other lover left her weary,
Proving never to fulfill;
For riches can not reap the harvest;
Riches know not how to till.

Returned she weak and heavy-laden
To He who loved and knew her best;
Ashamed was she, but joyous He
And offered kindly her to rest.

His heart a fount of pure emotion
Yearning for His cherished one;
She now could see with both eyes open;
Her days of slumber now were done.

Professed He to His purest bride,
“I vow to love you always, true.”
And gently hushed in velvet whisper,
She gave her heart and said, “I do.”

Oh, take my heart and make me better,
Take my heart and make me bold.
Bind my spirit in richest fetter,
And give my hand a ring of gold.