Standing in the presence of the Eternal,
a cracked, brittle being,
I try to open my heart
but fear reverberates
deep into my bones.

How can I understand
a love that is infinite?
How can I trust what I feel
but cannot see?

Each day a thousand times
I fall short.
Yet each day the sun
still shines on my face.

There is no give and take,
no transactions or negotiations.
Just divine love shining perpetually
on this lost, tired soul.


Moving Day

Soaked into these hardwood floors
Are a thousand shades:
Joy, frustration, exuberance, despair.
So many colors stained on these walls–
The tumultuous miracle
Of a young family.

It was here that I became a father.

Here I drank deeply
From chalices so sweet and bitter
That it burns my throat
Just to think of them.

Moving forces me to realize
Those moments are gone,
Years sealed up and packed away
Like those towers of boxes.

Though they are forever
Etched upon my heart,
It brings me to tears to see
How they have slipped through my hands.

Nostalgia is a pain so sweet and tragic,
The heart staggers under its weight.

Gnarled roots. Twisted bark.
Branches tangle amongst themselves
In their circuitous search
For the Sun.

Nights like this
Restless discontent
Is more friend than enemy.

Without that pain,
That soul searing agony,
How would the heart learn to love?

Worlds, beautiful and turbulent
Within and without
Are unfolding to some high destiny
Beyond the black smoke we see
On the horizon.

Just have to make it through.

Such a profound chill, the emptiness
Crept deep into my bones
On that night as I stared
Into the abyss, thinking
There must be something else.

When the Sun dawned on my face,
It burned searing holes
Into my naive, troubled mind.

I was so stupid back then,
Yet so inspired.

What tiny diamonds lay hidden
In the scattered refuse of my thoughts,
These have purchased for me
A new life, a new soul.

O God,
What tongue can voice
My thanks to Thee?

Us and them:

A thousand different ways
To hack and slice
At this singular body,

How good it feels
To vilify the other,
To ascend that gilded throne:
Moral superiority.

Visions of oneness are cast aside,
Exchanged for warring ideologies.

So the cuts run deeper;
The fissures wider.
This body lies weak
In a pool of its own blood.

We know we can destroy ourselves,
And we do it just the same.

Gracelessly he trundles around
That poor ukulele,
Claws at the strings,
And sings “raaaa raaaa…”

It sits in his lap so awkwardly,
So perfectly.

In the stuttering resonance
Of these chopped, splintered notes
Plays a divine song:
Creation. Expression. Potential.

An embrace quickly becomes
Joyful mayhem,
Love and struggle,
Brother and sister,
Unfettered laughter.

Thus the universe
Keeps twisting, twirling;
The arms of two nutty children
At the center
Of countless galaxies.

Towering tidal waves
churn, burn, and roar
as they swallow
the hapless masses.

Another innocent family
destroyed by a bomb
dropped at the behest
of ignorant, blind hate.

For there to be light,
there must also be darkness,
but why so much?

The black sky above:
a vast, empty abyss
interspersed with
tiny points of light.

This world here below:
much the same.

The real fight,
the only fight that matters,
goes mostly unseen, unmentioned.

To keep this malnourished soul alive
amidst the endless monotony
of dishes, traffic, bills, dirty floors.

To see grit and grime all around,
the blackness of hearts and minds
and not grow cynical.

To sift out and hold sacred
the grain of insight
from the endless confused thoughts
of that stupid, yet inspired kid
I once was.

To grow wise and not bitter,
younger in heart while older in body.

To purify the soul
despite clouds of black ash
falling all around.

How many times has the light threatened
to fade into nothingness?
Somehow a flicker always remains.

On those nights I am sustained
by the hope that one day,
I will once again walk
instead of crawling the way I do.