Bursting
(“God began to do a
good work in you. And I am sure that he will keep on doing it until he has
finished it. He will keep on until the day Jesus Christ comes again.”
Philippians 1:6)
I.
While your expectations may be bursting,
pain a hammer and your soul its anvil,
the landscape is still flush with living springs,
the quiet stream sings the lullaby your may have forgotten.
pain a hammer and your soul its anvil,
the landscape is still flush with living springs,
the quiet stream sings the lullaby your may have forgotten.
While you search for momentary cover, a reminder
of safety, a friendship or another sign that the designs
you imagined are still within sight,
the plight with its vise-grip deadens the colors
you used to plant, presidential roses in a row.
of safety, a friendship or another sign that the designs
you imagined are still within sight,
the plight with its vise-grip deadens the colors
you used to plant, presidential roses in a row.
While the numbers decrease,
the failures constrict
the fancies you snagged with your singing imagination.
the fancies you snagged with your singing imagination.
The days snap at you
hearing, the morning is a bully
and evening is a tease with its offer of ease until
the day takes it all away again.
and evening is a tease with its offer of ease until
the day takes it all away again.
What can we say to the
invisible agony?
What gain is there in repeating the couplets
out of time
when no one hears them the second, third
fifth or 10th time the title is announced:
“There is no cure for the atrophied brain”.
What gain is there in repeating the couplets
out of time
when no one hears them the second, third
fifth or 10th time the title is announced:
“There is no cure for the atrophied brain”.
So says the pain that
strangles the flow
from thought to light, light to dream,
dream to vision, and vision to…
from thought to light, light to dream,
dream to vision, and vision to…
And that, dear
concerned friend, is all I remember.
II.
I’ve heard there is a
work within me
and I pray it is so. The exterior is flaking,
the colors are fading, the frame is limping
with skeletal burrs.
and I pray it is so. The exterior is flaking,
the colors are fading, the frame is limping
with skeletal burrs.
I’ve heard it will
continue, the will and the do,
and I suppose it is true.
But what once was easy, what once was free,
the words that set fire, the crowd that came to see;
these
are memories of days I played the music of the skies
and the came with cousins from hills and plains
to learn the dance and teach it to others.
and I suppose it is true.
But what once was easy, what once was free,
the words that set fire, the crowd that came to see;
these
are memories of days I played the music of the skies
and the came with cousins from hills and plains
to learn the dance and teach it to others.
Today the tune is
confusing, my dance steps are ragged,
and a few watch for a day or two
(some, I’m sure who like the tune).
I am not a solo artist.
and a few watch for a day or two
(some, I’m sure who like the tune).
I am not a solo artist.
The tunes which spread
town to town
now are only sounds of puzzling origin,
yet, I believe it honest,
the Author is true while I wriggle the same
as I did without the pain.
now are only sounds of puzzling origin,
yet, I believe it honest,
the Author is true while I wriggle the same
as I did without the pain.
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