Unaware Of Heaven
The universe had fallen,
flickering light and shadow
pulsing down streets of time;
glow of angels scattered
like glitter on the floor of creation.
Electric colors of a night of defiance
sprinkled on the sidewalk,
running down the gutter of minds
reflecting our image as we pass,
unaware, of heaven.
Searching For Radiance
Glowing sophistication sprawled
across the darkened sphere.
Counterfeit light shining below
the misleading blackness.
Electric illusions can never satisfy.
passing away like neon vapor seeping
out our faulty arguments.
Souls walking on indefinite concrete,
searching for the perceptible intangible
glory beyond their horizon;
the relevant unknown radiance.
Dark Points Of Light
They wanted to be points of light,
so they were cast down;
angels scattered on the floor of creation.
Counterfeit radiance shimmering
in their own darkness;
coloring a copy of the glory,
subtly tinted an acceptable hue;
directing people to look down
at the shadows they cast.
Still glowing in the night
they are elated,
leading others to believe,
that they out shine the heavens.
To Karen Jacobs
Cold and passionate as the dawn,
you could come as red skies
of a winter morning.
And you wonder about the storm
in my eyes?
Mocking beauty behind grey veils,
stretched out in front of your glowing face;
the chill of your breath
reminding me of stinging words.
I might enjoy your rain.
I still might find it refreshing,
and we might not notice our tears.
To Melissa Hardy Germann
Old and faded images leave me
exposed to their colors.
Once vivid and bright, memories are now
dull and drab.
Their frozen smiles were never really
warm and inviting, but youth thinks it knows luster
as definite and sharp.
Age knows more about truth,
knowing the pictures were only hollow frames;
simple appearances, but only the border
of adolescence before adulthood.
Recollections are now crumpled and creased,
as they should be.
I’ll bet her face has a few lines,
although we never laugh as the pages turn,
towards the middle.
Makkot and Charoset
In order to enjoy the fourth cup,
soon I have to pour out the second.
Once again, like my life before,
I stand at the table to take tribulation’s bitter herbs,
prepared to run out my door in the morning.
Indignation dipped in the salt of fresh tears,
I still ask the same question I did as a child,
and, once again my Father gives me the answer,
so why should this night be any different?
On all other nights we do not dip even once,
but on that night we dipped twice, and now,
I also dip into the world’s mortar
these slaves work with,
in order that we may taste sweet restoration,
in the end.
Broken Jars of Promised Children
Moses vanished out the exit
and proceeded back in,
while time started running out.
He points to the same door
as the one before.
This time, crossing the tier’s threshold
into his battered homeland,
as God’s fallen religion elevates their temple,
before they sacrifice their blood.
Yet a new church weeps at the foot
of the rock they rejected,
for prostituting herself with
now pulling paper petitions from within
the gaps of their soul’s hard stones,
the last remaining wall of theirs to crumble;
treasuring these prayers from their heart,
hiding them in jars of clay,
some buried on the mountain
‘neath the olive trees.
So costly and broken, a fragrant perfume
soon to be poured out;
the essence of pure worship, filling the world.
Fallen Sparrows will Take Flight
In these last days, God whispers
in the sparrow’s ear a new song,
and many proclaim it from the rooftops.
In the darkness He croons as they
gaze at the midnight moon,
and the lyric and melody will not be silenced
on the final day.
Many will be sold for a pretty penny
and locked up in steel cages,
yet they know their souls are worth a higher price,
and they will never deny
the One who gave them wings.
Do not fear fallen sparrows. Some
of you will never land,
but you will soar like eagles,
beyond the clouds.
A pulsar, with a radio signature all her own,
hums to the melodies of the star-songs.
A solo voice amidst the ambience of space.
String theory vibrates;
in tune with her notes.
God’s wave displaced her,
as it passed between us.
In moments, she was the farthest point,
in my night sky.
I gave her up for heaven’s glory,
but still hear her serenade the evening,
and light my dreams,
singing, in the dark.
Renewal Through A Different Rock
Her phrases are on a new track
but she came out of this new age,
where the black carbon of the world
is copied and compressed into crystal confusion.
A life that didn’t really shine
because it was holistically fractured,
although the structure seemed to repeat indefinitely,
in a few directions;
logic being a geometrical arrangement of points.
The harmonic disturbances of life
were eventually focused,
healing her through, The Rock of Ages.
When life had begun
I was woven and spun,
but for whatever reason,
we grasp at strands
for things we don’t understand,
and I came unraveled and undone;
fragile material lying there.
A bundle small and a gift
unappreciated for itself,
pulled apart and strung tightly
with loose ends;
frayed and afraid.
One day You threaded Your needle,
and started to sew a design
in the cloth I thought was
The cross stitch began to hold me together,
and I’m starting to realize,
the pattern of the patchwork,
will be beautiful.
Life Beneath The Stack
No longer able to wrestle with the angels,
I’ve left behind the traces of who I’ve been
beneath stagnant momentum in the lanes
The existence of life’s interchange
was four levels above reality,
motionless in the rush.
amid the pillars of society,
the cracked concrete of my being
imitated the insincere ignorance above,
there, truth’s messengers still sleep,
dreaming, of heaven.
Flashes Of Lightning
To Lisa Free
Flashbacks crack my memory.
Yesterdays brake my present
into a fractured future.
Truth flickers in the dark.
Instants of reality spark and light
Retention of dreams cloud my sky,
and slip over the night horizon;
recollections of mist I breathe
slipping in and out of hollow spaces,
To Lisa Free
We were friends, not yet lovers.
Sitting couched in youth,
so close, but I couldn’t cross
the two inches left between.
Memories of the dark;
black tresses soft and smooth,
always out of reach,
above passionate red
covering your heart,
leaving love, to my imagination.
Feelings were hidden under
the threads of our conversation;
soft words of colored emotion
I had touched upon,
and thought, you never felt.
Elektra had Never Come from Heaven
Lightning had never
struck her history.
An unreal reality where the light of love
had never ignited her dim society.
She had fallen, although
she had never come from the heavens.
Her nightmare had annihilated
a past clouded in a violent atmosphere
of ethereal poverty.
She was only mythology visualized
in her world,
and although others had flashed
in my darkness,
she was never, a spark in my dreams.
Until in the midst of our storms,
my prayer actually transformed
our imaginations, and a miracle
corrected the paradox,
so our worlds became the same,
and she awakened my sky.
She demonstrated the meaning
of a love song.
A lyric of soft and gentle tones
swaying amongst the moment.
In accord with my deepest pain she sang
the harmony of empathy,
behind my verse that was aching,
as I tried to hide between uneasy rhyme.
We stood at my door until the measure
ended and closed.
It was a tune,
I could never compose.