The Air is Azure
(“So if
the Son sets you free, you are free through and through.” John 8:36 [The Message]
I
cannot speak of dreams and visions,
my prophecy rate is subpar at best.
I cannot prove the existence of peace,
or tell you I’ve witnessed the rainbow’s source.
my prophecy rate is subpar at best.
I cannot prove the existence of peace,
or tell you I’ve witnessed the rainbow’s source.
My feet
are swollen from the stumbling blocks
and my knees are scraped, not from praying,
but from falling where others walked so well.
and my knees are scraped, not from praying,
but from falling where others walked so well.
And
today my only wish is to see you wrapped in love,
embraced by the sun, aglow like the moon, a perfect child,
a well-crafted crystal pitcher handed down from generation
to generation. The tiny cracks from use only serve
to bend the light more beautifully when the light comes through
the window. The spectrum is painted across the room
and no one complains about its spidery flaws.
embraced by the sun, aglow like the moon, a perfect child,
a well-crafted crystal pitcher handed down from generation
to generation. The tiny cracks from use only serve
to bend the light more beautifully when the light comes through
the window. The spectrum is painted across the room
and no one complains about its spidery flaws.
Eternity
is such a long time, and some days seem
alpha to omega slow. Those days, full of waiting;
alpha to omega slow. Those days, full of waiting;
No, I
mean, empty while we wait the unknowable,
Those
days we wait we sometime tremble and wish
our heartbeat was slower, our thoughts blue like the sky,
not gray like puddles, and more permanent. Those days
waiting is our crucifix, only we will not use the word and
desecrate the bleeding hands and feet, the cry of abandonment,
or the grace of the one who suffered so fully for our empty days.
our heartbeat was slower, our thoughts blue like the sky,
not gray like puddles, and more permanent. Those days
waiting is our crucifix, only we will not use the word and
desecrate the bleeding hands and feet, the cry of abandonment,
or the grace of the one who suffered so fully for our empty days.
Today,
though my own thoughts race, I would wrap up the world for you,
tie ribbons, hang balloons, walk your walk, not my walk,
to see you smile again. To see you smile.
tie ribbons, hang balloons, walk your walk, not my walk,
to see you smile again. To see you smile.
I would
sit with you in the empty tomb and we would not
disturb the moment with pious talk. All we would know,
the place of death has been voided, the cruel nails disintegrated
into stardust and the air left behind is azure and summer oxygen.
disturb the moment with pious talk. All we would know,
the place of death has been voided, the cruel nails disintegrated
into stardust and the air left behind is azure and summer oxygen.
I would
sit with you until the stillness proved
freedom is finished, suffering is vanquished,
and yet our tears are just as painful; the fears as frightful,
freedom is finished, suffering is vanquished,
and yet our tears are just as painful; the fears as frightful,
But
love is now above and below, within, without, inhaling
and exhaling
it all. I wish you the peace I still pursue
and the freedom to feel sapphire days instead
of steel blue.
and exhaling
it all. I wish you the peace I still pursue
and the freedom to feel sapphire days instead
of steel blue.
Thank you, thank you, Mark. It seems I've lost all your poetry posted so long ago on the New-Wine list. But this one makes up for it. Your mention of the crazed glass vessel reminded me of George Herbert's poem, "The Windows"
ReplyDeletehttps://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/50695/the-windows-56d22df68ff95