You want too much of me,

I am sorry,

It is my fault,

I feel myself

Too much who I am;

Than rather some part

I have built for an offering

To a sham of

An I am who am.

2016.01.21.1216 ©

The business of dying is

Finding out who I am

Finding in who I am

Finding everything that is

Not who I am and then

Naming it as sin.

Can I handle all that stillness?

Can I give up all that spin?

Yes, that will be the marker

Whether I lose or whether I win.

2016.01.08.2017 ©

Tell me that life is not beautiful and

I will bid you farewell, because

You have no idea of heaven or

The heights from which man fell.

I do not expect to hear a whistle or

A symphony or a bell, but

It must all be music to my ears because

There is forever silence in hell.

While, strange is the mixture,

In our waking hours,

Each one to the other

We tell.

2016.01.05.1838 ©

All young years seem to begin

With celebration and

With hope for

The new cycle,

The new light;

But they must all find

Their own Yom Kippur,

Their own prayer in the dark,

Their own atonement day;

For we do not simply go forward

Into the light; Rather

We learn better

To live with the darkness

In our midst.

2016.01.03.0624 ©