Bits of Dust…

July 21, 2016

img_0931 

As His path swung ’round
his feet pressed off
The cold, night-ground,
And his humble eyes beheld
-Like a fold in the fabric of forever-
That horizon

Milky
Golden

And of the crisp light beyond it he thought: what bits of dust are blessed to bear these beautiful tidings

In myriad reflections

“Dawn is come!” they cry,
And all before it breaks
Itself
A clarion call
Of the coming
Of One greater.


(Thanks to Whitney Eitzen for the painting. :) )

Grace-Toppled…

June 22, 2016

Tempted by wonder
To, doubters, believe.
His pack held the truths
That had caused him to grieve.

To Trade place at E’er’s table
For crumbs from Now’s “feast.”
“The least shall be greatest
The greatest- the least.”

With these thoughts in his head,
The man wandered on.
The water, yes, moved him,
But not a mere pawn.

Beside this small torrent
Were his footprints aft’ found.
Where either were headed
None-else ever found,

Save for those souls
Who’s destinies met,
Past faith and fell-struggle
Upon grace-toppled regret.

Water Feet VI

491…

September 12, 2015

Seventy times
Seven

But maybe no more for me…

Haven’t you ever felt it?
How it seems like we’re much too
Free.

“…so that as sin reigned in death, even so grace might reign through righteousness to eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord. What shall we say then? Shall we continue in sin that grace may abound? Certainly not!”

What God Has Made Crooked…

September 12, 2015

clay head

The sound of fear echoing
In a head made of clay…

White gold glinting
The very same way

The puddles did that we jumped into…

Jumped in two…

Feet shackled in ice?

Impetuous…

Painful, wrong.

A minor note ringing

In apology’s song

For a broken world.

Only, You Can’t…

September 8, 2015

Only,
You can’t take her
Only
At her word
She also moves
She also looks
She also chooses.

I could listen all day long
To the song of the
Words she uses…

But miss the full beauty
Of her life
Like dance.

Shoulders lifting
Now
Life laid down
Again
Love hopes
All in a glance.

Plenty Men…

September 2, 2015

The night was Blood-red-black
Y’know?
Like:
Can’t see your brother’s hand
Before your face.
But a voice spoke out of that darkness.
Slack,
It may have been both
Wisdom and Disgrace,

Saying:

“Ever and anon
We swing and swing
Swing on

These pendulums we
Call life
Collide
And held-hopes break,
I tell you,
Break!
As kept
Inside.

‘No man is an island,’
Ha!
I would sing it to my guitar.
Plenty men are silent, though,
And apathy may mar

Our continent
More
Than straits ever could.”

Here the voice waned
Quiet, faint,
And ’twas there I understood

That it sounded from a man
Too far
From wielding what he’d learned.

Death was calling,
And his life would answer,
But the truth of love’s lesson still burned

Enough.
He would share.
For beneath this world’s
Troubled seas,
Deep, like arteries
There fare
Mathieu’s dreams.

chunnel II

No Wonder …

June 27, 2015

image

We wake to find
We wear the rugs
We’ve swept all of our dirt
Under.

Wearymuch?
Or thus and such…
This gin burns:
No…
No wonder.

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