It is nineteen hundred hours,

The dark and the silence have begun,

The day in all its glorious madness

Has bled its colors and run.

But its pictures remain in my memory’s tracks

And I long for their pleasant release

So I ply them with personal preferences

As I hope their impression will cease.

What?

To be replaced with more movement

Away from the center

That will continue to fracture and confuse?

No, rather a run to an eternal presence

That can rectify, sanctify and enthuse.

Yes, the world outside will always be there,

It is the constant

Steady in time and in space

But it is the journey far away

In the silence of living

That nothing and no one can erase.

My soul is the eternal presence

That longs for the eternal sense

And it eschews my choices to pacify it

In the pleasures of the present tense.

2012.10.02.0600 ©

I used to think nothing

Was something that must be elevated

As an evil or a good;

Now I have found

It is only the sound of the silence

Calling us all

To the depth of the wood;

Where we shall see clearly

The path that we shall come upon,

When there is no longer

any fear that it could

Do anything but give us

The life that is longing

To return to the Source

That it should.

2012.09.30.0100 ©

It is the silence

Of the night

That permits the echo

Of yesterday

To repeat;

So I must dream softly

On the surface

That the life

I have accustomed

Would not tomorrow’s

Whispered siren

Itself delete;

From a tapestry

Of patterns

In designs

Of distant Kingdoms

Where my lost and

Wandering spirit

Does retreat;

What is more the burden?

How I’ve sinned in my confessions?

Or the longing for temptation’s

Constant beat?

2012.09.28.0130 ©

I have taken for myself too many memories

So my solitude needs to struggle with my mind

Until I am forced into a corner by the darkness

And must leave the light of yesterday there behind

For the journey to a Kingdom that is beyond me

Wrapped in a vision or a faith that cannot be seen

And that is greater than any life I could imagine

Or any place my mind or my body may have been.

2012.08.21.1100 ©

I am brutal in my pride and anger,

Lust and greed and sin;

I am sad in whom I cannot be

When I seek for my soul’s life within;

I am sorry for how much I failed in the past

For the sinner I am and have been;

I am sick when I cannot slow down the procession

And am caught in the same daily spin.

2012.08.20.0900 ©

This life is beyond prayer,

Beyond ritual,

Beyond faith;

It is more thinking I am a sinner

Than a winner or a saint;

It is trying more than the yesterday

That I forget in the Kingdom today;

It is finding a joy in the moment,

In the wonder is it pray or is it play.

A new day is the recurring mantra;

It is the lesson;

It is the song;

It is the finding that in this life we live

We are loved and we belong

To a greater Will and Wisdom

That is surprise and mystery

Because I would choose to abide in the Father

So that His Spirit would abide in me.

2012.08.22.0700 ©

I am at the mercy of the weather,

Of the other and of my past;

I am at the mercy of my body

And the thoughts that pass so fast;

I am at the mercy of what’s good

That changes faces and won’t last;

I am at the mercy of the will of God

So  wholly vast.

2012.07.09.0700 ©