Spiritual Elements

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The children young and old
run in metropolitan communities;
fallen souls in the city of angels.
Behind their masks they say
trick or treat.

The city answers with its candy,
brightly color wrapped sweets
to entice them all to follow
further down the street.

The costume betrays the creature,
wanting more than truth decay
on fallen nights like these.
Watch them wander around,
craving to consume.


Past Flame©

Each of us has a flame,
     and the fire whispers a name,
of a friend or a lover
     whose spark has gone out,
and left us in the ashes of our feelings.

In our youthful days as they pass by,
     we age, and never expect to cry;
dowsing the fire with our tears,
     the smoldering cinders turn inward
to color our souls in black and gray.

But the night carries on
     as we wander and long,
catching the glow of yesterday

in tomorrow.
Another will come and ignite

what remains;
casting a shadow,

over the coals of the past.


Death Of The Reanimator©

I died at the Doctor’s table;
     drinking the blood He offered me.
He breathed into me and I revived,
     to walk away from my life
and find that I had died to yesterday.

Still in my mind are the thoughts of fate;
     a cancer that grows from deadly desires.
So I die again because

I am alive.
The death of the Doctor

cures the condition.


Seasons To Come
To Sjonna D. Hermanson

Time turned the seasons of our lives,
pulling us away from the comfort of each other.
As our love fell into winter
we turned from who we knew
and wandered towards our horizons.

The sun rises and taunts me
with the warmth I once knew.
Making its low arc in the sky,
I follow as it leads me away
towards the seasons to come,
and the warmth of another.


Notice Tomorrow

The 21st century is ushered in
with little more than
the usual casual formalities.

The fear and furry of y2k
slipped into memory,
as the digital world counted on;
its never ending pace and hurry,
with the market to worry
about selling desires in a cautious economy.

We are not living on the moon,
although the station is the brightest
star orbiting.

The future doesn’t look like
Wells’ dream or an Orwellian nightmare,
but one day when I’m old
I’ll wake up from my youth,
and notice tomorrow.


Bending The Light©

The light shines through us
     to kindle the flame.
Clouded as we are,
     the light still bends
          through word and action;
igniting others to shine
     and do the same.


Image And Phrase

In this information age,
     you’d think I’d be able
to find the words.

If I could stream video
     directly into your brain,
would you understand
     the fuzzy edges of the images
at full screen;
     out of sync with what
I meant to say.

When my message conflicts
     between image and phrase,
please understand,
     that I’m only human.


Cast In The Stream©

Stream the world at a click
     before my eyes;
reality virtually digitized.

I almost meet your gaze,
     as the lens bends my perception
of you for a moment,
     then shifts to another.

Information sensation
     can leave out the human dimension,
as I stare at you from across the globe,
     glowing just behind the glass.


An Unquiet Mind©

Walking through the stillness
     of the canyon,
sheltering oaks
     and brush covered hills,
paint the serenity of yesterday.

Pulsing to the pace of the unreal,
     intersections race with electric illusions,
and dreams decrease in the hum and buzz
     of decisions made in compressed continuance.

An unquiet mind
     roams the city of the soul,
just below.

A Gentle Whisper

I stood on the mountain,
     and listened to the wind
as it tore all around,
     but heard nothing.

Then the ground shook
     for all their many faults,
but I was not to blame,
     for my lack of understanding.

Then a fire consumed my knowledge,
     and in the light I saw their darkness,
illumined by the flames,
     as my expectations flickered.

As my surroundings calmed
     I heard a whisper,
soft and gentle o’er the hill,
“There are others, like you.”


In Your Eye

Let the tempest whirl around me.
I’ve found the center of Your will.
Some day You’ll speak the word,
stilling the storm that rages
at the edge of my consciousness.

I walk in the stillness of the moments
as a small voice whispers in my heart.
And so You are an endless mystery
speaking words of comfort to my soul,
as circumstances swirl around,
the perimeter, of peacefulness.


Drifting Through The Years

Drifting through the years,
the days rise and fall
‘neath the shroud of time.

The horizon of the past
is clouded with the fog
of my medicated mind;
mixing up the moments
with my dreams and fears.

The horizon of the future
has always been overcast with mystery.
As I look into the emptiness
I get dizzy with the sickness of these days;
only hoping to drown, in eternity.


Alphabet Soup©

Creative expression
shaped by the grammar and syntax
of destiny.
In other words,
playing in our alphabet soup.

We try
until the red broth of our being
soaks the Ps and Qs
into something we understand.

As we scoop
them into sustenance
they shift into confusion;
still meaning something
to us, on the inside.


Through Stained Glass©

I turn inside to the flickering fire,
in awe that it burns within.
The flame dances with desires
foreign to the darkness without.

If these words were clear
you’d close your eyes;
the windows of your soul
clouded with confusion.

So it burns within this temple,
and glows through glass
stained with good intentions,
so that you may be enlightened.


The Light Of Democracy©

An attack on America
wakes us from our complacency,
as our prayers rise towards God and country.

Our federal and financial symbols crumbled
to remind us of faith and freedom,
to bring us back from our flights of apathy,
and to rebuild on our founders’ foundation.

We rise with a new dawn of determination,
indivisible in our resolve,
as the light shines through the dust,
in the harbor, of democracy.


This Act Of Worship

In this worship that I do,
words hide the mystery
that I long to express,
and allusions elude
my finite mind,
as I feel the silence
of Your presence.

This act of worship,
in the stillness of the evening,
stills my poor soul’s wandering,
and focuses a troubled mind
beyond the ordinary moments,
to the inconceivable, Eternal.

Moon Shadows©
To Karen Frost

It’s in the way the wind
     whispers through the pines,
at twenty past midnight on a Monday.

It’s the silence between us when we’re near,
     that says so much about our love,
casting our feelings o’er the floor of forever.

Moon shadows sway with the season
     and stretch out amongst the trees,
as the dim light from above
     marks the phases, of our lives.


Angels' Praise

Acoustic praise fills the hills,
     as I turn my back
on the things of this world.

A few reclaimed Angelenos
     sit beneath the stars
for a night of modern worship,
     above the glittering valley,
of our lives.