These are the days of ease,
The days of the Sugar Maple
And the Butternut trees,
The Walnut and the Hickory.
My young saplings grow as these,
Little roots, little branches, little bark,
Until they’ve grown, and put off leaves,
And leave me breathless in the breeze.
Should I never get to see,
Another limb stretch to the sky,
These days are hidden treasuries,
Of maples and of memories.
I spoke a mantra
Wrote it down,
I thought I had expelled you.
The hiccups paused,
I believed were done,
Until another gasp inhaled you.
How can this be
For any good?
I must find and burn your altar.
How have ancient
Dreams withstood
These years they do not alter.
Why won’t they falter
Like I do?
All these dreams
They still persist
Even after my crude exorcism.
It’s so unseemly
They exist
Somewhere in reflex or optimism,
Behind my reams,
My pen, my wrist,
My highest tenacity or masochism.
The words themselves were kind,
But spewed out angry-
Like an indefensible accusation.
They were something reckless, something blind,
Measured methodically
In premeditated over-calculation.
They hit like poison darts
Swelling the blood,
Organ to organ, system to system.
Until cardiac necrosis imparts
Death by flood,
By sorrow, by unwanted wisdom.
Hurry now, hurry!
The wind is vicious
Tearing off the little petals,
Scattered as embittered wishes.
Each petal crashes hard, hard
Weighing down this solid stone,
This earth of dirt and time
Of teeth and tear and groan.
Who will gather the crushed petals,
From every corner trod?
Who can build the rose again,
Save alone the Hand of God?
Black coffee cat,
Scat!
This is not your back stoop.
Troop of omen
Moan and wail, but
Leave me to my own.
What evil eyes shone
Through the night-
Lies! Threats!
Begone! Fly
Mangy imp of the devil’s devices
Limp back to hell,
Leave me to my own.
Not because I need to speak,
To stand, to be seen or heard,
But because when I am weak
You stay strong and true to Your Word.
Not for my purpose,
But for Your affections.
Only You could work this
Dead mess to resurrection.
I am here for You alone,
And what pleases You is all
That makes me feel like home;
Your company alone enthralls.
Use me, hide me, either way
Don’t leave me to the hands of men.
Walk the unbroken union every day,
Speak unto my soul again,
Your words, not mine.
And if I am to stand
I won’t push myself up
By my two filthy hands
Palms pushing earth pushing palms.
If these words must erupt,
Control the burn and balm.
Write this story, and if need be
Use me-
For Your glory.
Hatred,
Did you burn against me?
I’ve read your words,
Your confusing medley.
So ready to sell me off,
Or chop me down.
Mute,
I walked where you gave me
Your land, your soil.
The grass knew my bare feet
The blades cut my song
Into bone.
Wet hair,
I fled like a maniac, laughter
Flowed like tears, hysteria
I chased the morning after
With ten more years
Of barefoot races.
Lost
And lone by your design.
Thorns can’t blame the rain
But beauty always intertwined
The downpour, or I
Would lay down blind
Under your dark earth.
Oh wicked wretch that I am-
Seething, grasping, lecherous fool.
How I drain the draft of the damned!
How I allow the aimless appetite to rule!
Oh forgetful, sleeping sinner!
Slinging aside the whole of Truth!
Greedy sins spill from my center-
Lusts of flesh and sins of youth.
O Great Salvation, apply Your balm!
Scrub, scrape, scour off this crud.
Imbed me in Your bloody palm-
Cleanse me in Your flowing blood.
Forgive me all my sins and stains.
I justly deserve death from Your hand.
I throw myself atop Your pains-
Unable to plead, unable to stand,
Deal with me as You desire.
Remember I am dust and sin.
Heal me, or cauterize with fire,
Only do not leave me to the hands of men.
I am wicked, but I am Yours.
Comfort my conscience again.
viewingcamelot 