You Must Know by Now
(“We
have this hope as an anchor for the soul, sure and steadfast, which reaches
inside behind the curtain.” Hebrews 6:19)
You
must know by now that sometimes
I do not feel it.
I’ve heard stories and fables ever since
I believed
about angels and visions,
about heavenly transportations,
wheels within wheels.
I do not feel it.
I’ve heard stories and fables ever since
I believed
about angels and visions,
about heavenly transportations,
wheels within wheels.
But you
must know by now that all that
moves me are kind eyes.
I’ve heard stories about hands around hearts
and I’ve even written letters apologizing for
my disease and how I passed it onto the
unsuspecting.
Still, neither by hand or mouth, I have hardly heard
a shared or whispered word that took into account
the way their nasty tone was like boxer’s blows
to my mind.
moves me are kind eyes.
I’ve heard stories about hands around hearts
and I’ve even written letters apologizing for
my disease and how I passed it onto the
unsuspecting.
Still, neither by hand or mouth, I have hardly heard
a shared or whispered word that took into account
the way their nasty tone was like boxer’s blows
to my mind.
A smile
would be magic, a hug the certain cure
for a faith as tattered as bell bottom jeans,
as fleeting as memories when the world was kinder,
(the best days were in my teens.)
for a faith as tattered as bell bottom jeans,
as fleeting as memories when the world was kinder,
(the best days were in my teens.)
I do
not blame anyone, I suppose I have been the same.
I call someone my best friend and we talk every 20 years.
Still, all in all, cherubim and seraphim, the floods have washed
the structures I built my belief upon and sent them
Like flotsam to the sea.
I call someone my best friend and we talk every 20 years.
Still, all in all, cherubim and seraphim, the floods have washed
the structures I built my belief upon and sent them
Like flotsam to the sea.
And
now, what do I do with the brief remains?
How do I listen to the refrains of grief that once sang
me happy home?
I pick up words here and there; a song by Carole King,
another by Keaggy, and more than I can count from
James Taylor. I find more holiness in concerts and
coffee with you, if you find the same with me.
How do I listen to the refrains of grief that once sang
me happy home?
I pick up words here and there; a song by Carole King,
another by Keaggy, and more than I can count from
James Taylor. I find more holiness in concerts and
coffee with you, if you find the same with me.
My
heart has been broken for some time. I smashed it
myself, it is true; but there were others who finished
the job. I rarely write without crying, so I wonder who
even tries to read my words anymore. I’m too old
to keep score.
myself, it is true; but there were others who finished
the job. I rarely write without crying, so I wonder who
even tries to read my words anymore. I’m too old
to keep score.
Whether
I know it or not (and, as you have gathered,
I know very little), my anchor has hardly moved throughout
this chatter of life lived between AM radio signals.
My anchor still rests in the love that is hidden from most,
and, since both anchor and love are stronger than I,
I suppose I will remain unmoved yet in the last sliver
of my life.
I know very little), my anchor has hardly moved throughout
this chatter of life lived between AM radio signals.
My anchor still rests in the love that is hidden from most,
and, since both anchor and love are stronger than I,
I suppose I will remain unmoved yet in the last sliver
of my life.
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