like a mirage in the heat
the marmalade moon hangs low
against the mind
silent as we, but crazed, crazed as the flame
this was the resurrection in the desert
I have no culture;
hands lie with religion;
laugh in the troughs between the waves whitecaps;
here in this room, desiring you
as a foreign sail threadbare against the sun
on the long shore, lit by the moon
I'd be substantial
yet hidden
pouring a Scotch
to live in a name
as raiment, as songs of the harp-player
and nobody buys-
that's the way they are
an ancient bankrupt master of this house
brandishing the sword
far now from all the bannered ways
who has no aim but to
Stone-cutters fighting time with marble
like dust blown through the streets of Rome
some motion ever unspent
to look at when I liked
they are gone.
they have gone to feed the roses.
I seek you earnestly, I thirst and burn
With longing just to see you glorious fame;
Your love better than life, I live and yearn
To praise you with my soul and bless your name.
I stay up late, and ponder through the night,
Beneath the darkest shadow of your wings;
My soul hides from the cruelty of might,
From the ruin vindication brings.
Rejoice, rejoice with all your loudest voice!
His paths are lovingkindness, they are truth;
Each winding road, not merely those I choose
As I approach the waning of my youth.
Not dwelling on all that I have to lose,
I look and see what covenants have bound
This life together, made it sound and whole.
I think of testimonies: surer ground
To walk and make the value of the toll.
Oh how they keep me in my wanderings deep!
We all began where Psalms of lament must:
Within the confines of a cavernous grief,
In utter darkness, pain as coarse as dust.
My soul there waited for the Lord’s relief,
His hand to lift, His face to shine with favor.
And when He came I could not help but sing
With joy that only pain could help me savor,
With gratitude for His delivering.
But those who walked before me lagged behind,
The darkness hid their morass underneath;
Now years have passed, but still their mired minds
Have yet to move those weary, grieving feet.
I’d hoped by now the whole Psalm they’d rehearse,
But they have yet to pass the second verse.
aren't we all just lonely little stars
searching for meaning to
the chaos?
maybe it's in our desperation
to fill the void that we're
really one in the same.
When all your joy feels utterly destroyed
And scattered ashes have become your bed—
That which was once a refuge, now a void,
Familiar comforts, tortuous instead—
There are no words to breathe life to that grief
Or speed the solace long awaited for.
The sluggish twirls of a dying autumn leaf
Are premonitions of the path before:
Its windings trace the whims of wordless wind,
Its ups and downs nobody knows...
We beg for answers: Leave us not chagrined,
O, leave us not a leaf that blows...
Sometimes the silence that seems all-enveloping
Is comfort present in our midst developing.