Many Months, Many Promises Later

I do not know and am afraid. So many words—So many words spoken or left silent
for never speaking
or speaking at the missing time always the wrong time that lingers.
We sometimes hear ourselves speaking what we wish Without first consulting reality Or speaking what we would want as truth
Without first consulting God—We speak rashly.

...Time and Light Both constant—Time fades Beyond the use of Vision Though I remember–years And cherish the event of memory Though some keep little Joy—
We sometimes cherish pain— By Pain living comes. And by Pain, Too often, my words come to living.
I would not have it so Would share joyful words But something negates And many months, many Promises Constant constant fade fading What if light and time had fallen–there?

Circles and Synthesis

Sometimes,When many words seem to roll around the brink
And one wonders which will fall out and be lost—
Which will tip inside and kept as treasure,
I’m afraid to push upon the words
They may crush themselves
Or burden the Spirit of another and my own.
Words and hot tea,
Either given or taken in a rush may burn
To burn away some of taste forever.
There is more to singing than our voices
And more to knowing than our words
And more to love than touch.
I should pause to listen
While smaller voices whisper still.
Few know how to touch anymore.

Dream well—
Few know how
To Dream
Or fear
To Dream
Or listen
Or touch
Or Love.

With Some Pretense

The Poet Has only room for speaking
In the interlude between Words. Poets are often quiet—when
Silent Speaking sounds above Words that cannot bear
Sentiment is more than speaking. Love is beyond expression of Emotion. After sounds A poet is mute—though His voice may deafen And his whispers move The Spirit—

Fugitive Silent

In some fugitive silent moment Alone,
Waiting for the next event—the Last, Every man Pauses for the
Quiet between heartbeats; The sudden pausing Falling away A death Between surges of living.
EveryMomentEveryMan Nears the longer space of Dying
‘Who is the Wise man; Who shall know the end of A matter?’ The end of silent hearts Or the end of moments Moving together— Of Pain.

Every failing memory Recalls this movement of despair;
And everything still sudden, Hoped for and sullen.
Falling away in time Fading Still fugitive
Among the permanence of knowing All moment and memory Fleeting
From the contained reality Of uncommunicated Hope— Misunderstood alone.

I heard music once. Now I strain to listen
Without those once beside Who wait for me ahead. I thought I knew. Now knowing—All falls away to Silence.

So that some may hope I spoke words from this Word. Some may hope For things not yet seen But existing— If in spirit only so.
Remainders of ancient Faith Cannot live for many moments today
But Words remain forever To bear life into The end of Breath And Spirit moving.
So that some may hope Yet, not seen But promised and existing If only in my Spirit— And his—Shared between two and All these hoping.
Hope is Vanity unless in faith. Remember past days—Remember Hope
Or all is despair and a measured method of
Unbelief—Falling Away Alone.

I Hear Some Spirit

I hear some Spirit calling meIn broken screams of Hymnody—
Forever bear Cacophony
To breed Elect of Infamy.

I hear some Mystic Melody
Sung distant from Society
Devoid of chant or harmony
For this unborn a monody.

I hear unbidden Prophecy
For nations without Unity
The Prophet cries a parody
Advancing men of Villainy.

I hear forbidden revelry
Of Pagan praise or Blasphemy
Who invoke the fallen Entity
And redemption without Calvary.

I hear the Toll of Destiny
Necessitate Fatality
I’ll flee from such insanity—For
All this life is Brevity.

For all this life is brevity.
I hear some spirit calling me.

Back Down

He’s riding alone among others Like others
Who are themselves only as Fancy dudded up dudes
On big muffler Japanese motorbikes.

Paused at a stoplight Stopped—
The dudded dude hovers, leans lightly over
And chats with the adjacent dud
Similarly studded and strutting on
His sputtering steel superbike structure.

In the intersecting lane The light changes from green To yellow, as stoplights are wont to do, then To that split-second when
All lights are red
And every gathered motorist waits patiently at the Stoppage of automotive peace.
The motorcycle man moves his feet From the ground Quickly turning the throttle Shifting, popping up a gear or two Too fast.
Such as these are not meant for our Earth.
“Look, the sky” Perhaps he thought

As he pointed his personal powered Pegasus
Toward Heaven
In a mechanized mass production
Plea for personality
Or hope
Or escape from that traffic and congestion
That seems to follow him everywhere.

Maybe he just belted out a chain of expletives
By the censoring combustion of
Asian engines and engineering.

One wheel, smoking heavily, Bound him still
To our common human highway
Then he came back down A time or two
Beating a jarred and crushing rhythm On the broken pavement
His springs squelched Any relapse into flight
But did not save him
From falling.

Lover's Song

I’m haunted by my Lover’s SongSome moments since this falling ill
And question morals—Right and Wrong.

What time remains may swift belong
To soundless shallow breathing—still,
I’m haunted by my Lover’s Song.

She’s seeing spirit faces drawn
Beyond the passage closing chill
And questions morals—Right and Wrong.

From formal sadness—Living long
In empty rooms that Life or Faith should fill
I’m haunted by my Lover’s song.

Her lyric hold is bold and strong
As wordless glancing parables
That form our morals—Right or Wrong.

So dreadful now to choose among
A Vow or tearful lonesome act of Will;
I’m haunted by my Lover’s Song
And question morals—Right and Wrong.

Isaiah Nine

Set about to listen While living seed is ready found.
Through silent times Do all to break thy fallow ground.

A time of Darkness in a place called home. Truly the light is sweet
In the moments after nightfall.
The people who walk in darkness Argue against the Light
Hiding in spirit shadows blindly Darkness prevails and binds them.
Without eyes or sight of hope; Wondering what definition forms despair
They hurry on downward deeper dropping Off forever falling into darkness
Not even in dimness searching
For some passage outward
Darkness prevails and binds them;
Hidden, the Spirit, darkly blinds them.
There is only time at this moment—once
The appointed passing time of Salvation.

The other Spirit calls to you— Deception has a word aside in the shadow; Listen closely, wish all Light away. Many are called—so few return.
The Light shineth in darkness; the darkness comprehendeth it not. Your arms reach out into the open void—Decided;
In a passing moment
You’ve found a home Forever.