Full of Unknown

Full of Unknown

(“I love the Lord, for he heard my voice; he heard my cry for mercy.” Psalm 116:1)

Everything I did was in the shadows, all my works reaching in the dark;
Few spotlights, hardly in the news, less interviews, and never published:
words or tunes, doctrine or views.

I could swear I never sought fame, took the tiny venues, memorized one acts
while better located friends chewed the scenery. “I could have been”, I said,
“on at least a local marquee.”

Yet today, a single college child spoke, an atheist, a soft anarchist and
unwitting iconoclast; smarter than most, taunted by many who claimed the
Name, who walked the Way. She tiptoed through the four year stares of
the church-going few who knew, atheist views, she was danger, and took
their turns wide around her down the halls. A living, breathing, lovely,
masterpiece of heaven; made to sit alone by the holy, afraid of getting dirty,
and left her lonely, four years. But she walked, she swam, she limped, she
jammed her pen into her notebook to keep from biting clear through her lips.

How do some, with no thought of God, love His people more dearly than those
who claim a first row seat at the Jesus Circus when it comes to town.

How do some, who talk so close of God, ignore His people, the doubting, the
clowning to cover their fears, aches and fiery nerves. All they want is a seat
somewhere
where they can be loved for who they are.

I love the Lord, He loved me. He laughed at my certainties.
I love the Lord. He reached me. He spoke through, even, infidels.
I love the Lord. He called me. He opened the skies, not answer my questions,

But to begin the First Act, pointing to my name card surrounded by
names of little and some, large and then, visit and phone, who, just once,
or labored in tears, would sit with me

At the Banquet full of unknown, fully known.

I Do Not Want to Write

I Do not Want to Write

(“I am God who brought you up out of the land of Egypt. Be holy because I am holy.” Leviticus 11:45 [The Message])

I do not want to write today; for several reasons.
I am weary, yes, droopy eyed, fall back asleep before lunch-time
tired.
I am hurting, yes, years of trying turned into to “no’s”, and 40 months
full
of headache pain that traps me underwater without breath.
I am atheist, yes, that is why I do not want to write today, I cannot
find Him whom I love, nor feel His “yeses” to sooth the “no’s”, to
remove the gravelly acne that has popped up around my adolescent hopes.

I do not want to write today; for I am sore afraid.
I am afraid of what I will write, putting down exactly what
wrestle matches and rashes that know complicate my thoughts.

I do not want to write today; for I am more afraid.
I am more afraid you will actually read it and believe my faith
is bone dry (why, you have every reason to, I wrote it plain, afraid
as I say I am atheist today.)

You have read me in the past and nearly choked me with your
display of personal pain, blaming what I wrote, claiming
pointblank aim from my loaded words. I shoot barns broadside,
not mere peers downroad from me, having crossed sunlight’s horizon.

I do not want to write today; I am no martyr, yet today I would
rather fry for the faith than face another day of empty space
just trying to catch my breath. I love You, invisible, and
love You still, today, I have no doubt;

You are not there.

I do not want to write today; I am atheist only because
my heart is emptied of every belief, void of hope,
and lost on the banks of a lonely island like
a lover left without a word or letter.

I do not want to write today.