May we not revel in the beauty
of the ache,
and the silent longing -
of tears and broken dreams
planted deep in our souls?
We must, and be defiantly hopeful.
Here in this sorrow, we watch
for the dawn’s awakening.
In this crucible we welcome
the vigil, awaiting
the birth of diamonds.
Author: This Life Made Beautiful
What We Are
I have heard that You are patient,
and You are kind, and You are gentle.
I hope so.
I suppose - if You still want me after all
this time, how could You be
anything else?
There are many things
I do not know. But I do know
that I am afraid.
Yet they tell me that
You are safe, and
You are Shelter, and
You are Protector.
I hope so.
Even You have said, that
Your name is I AM.
Oh how I hope that You Are -
that You Are everything I am not.
How Not to Drown
This fog pierces
like lightning - thick as mud
and hurts like hell.
I joke with my friend,
“Even breakfast is too complicated!”
We laugh.
But the joke is real today, and I
am not laughing anymore.
… Should I go to class?
Probably.
I wander out the front door
five minutes before Basic Swimming
and drive to the gym.
At least I will not drown
in pool water.
Front crawl.
Back crawl.
Breaststroke.
Sidestroke.
At the deep end
I grab the pool edge breathing
heavy and deep, and stare dully
over the watery expanse.
I do not know anything,
or feel anything - except the
searing, mind-numbing reality
of right now.
What else is there?
I have forgotten already.
I begin again the front crawl.
Reminiscent of Dory, the mantra arises,
unbidden -
“Just keep swimming, just
keep swimming, just keep
swimming,
swimming,
swimming . . .”
To Build A Mountain
I glance at her, pensive.
Hands shoved deep in my pockets, I say
“But if I go there . . .
I don’t know anybody. And it’s flat,
what about the mountains?”
She gazes intently at her shoes as we walk
together in the sunshine.
“Well, I guess you’ll just have to kick up some dust –
make your own mountains.”
She grins at me, quite pleased with her answer –
no hint of doubt in my ability
to construct such a monstrosity. Because of course
it takes no more faith to build a mountain
than to move it.
The Night…
Maybe I do not expect you to understand.
How could you fathom such suffocating blackness,
when you were raised
to gaze at the beauty
of the heavens?
To you, the night sky
is but a backdrop for the brilliance
of the stars.
But the night . . .
The night is a black hole
which consumes me.
It devours
my waking hours, and
desecrates my dreams
while I sleep.
It is a living death,
which could not be troubled
to die in truth.
Wiser Than God
How many failures and pardons
must there be
before I declare my redemption
complete?
How may tsunamis and shipwrecks
shall overcome me
before I walk those shores
for which I long?
How many days -
Oh how long will it be -
Until I am not wiser
than God?
Amicolola Falls in Autumn, Georgia
Such a procession I have never seen!
A cry goes up, “come - let us watch
the leaves lay down their lives
one fading spark at a time.”
“What is this beauty you see -
Is it not but the funeral
of a multitude of leaves?”
“Ah, but my friend -
what is this funeral if not
a memorial bursting with joy?
Yes, a celebration of beauty -
of hope arising triumphant
from so many fallen waifs.
The leaves bid us farewell
with a promise that has never died.
‘Goodbye -
we shall come again!’”
Inspiration
Oh inspiration, where be you?
Fleeting mischievous phantom that you are!
You entice me at work
sidle up during lecture
and torture me when I am trying
(however haphazardly) to study!
Frightful creature, here I sit -
notebook open, pen in hand,
and you have flown away.
The NERVE.
My next exam is tomorrow.
I shall be expecting you,
scoundrel.
demons and Divinity
I hear the demons
demand
“who are you, little human,
that you dare think you could ever
change?”
But my dear -
they have the question twisted
all wrong.
Now it is I who ask you,
“Who do you think I am,
that I could not transform
you?
Who do you think you are,
that you could never be
so transformed?”
demons and Divinity
I hear the demons
demand –
“who are you, little human,
that you dare think you could ever
change?”
But my dear –
they have the question twisted
all wrong.
Now it is I who ask you,
“Who do you think I am,
that I could not transform
you?
Who do you think you are,
that you could never be
so transformed?”