Love's Lament

I am raindrops
Against your window
Falling silently as tears.
I cannot rage against the glass
Whipped to furore by the wind
I wish I could 
Then you might hear.

This vigil outside
The boundaries of
Your busy heart
With no room
Except a tiny crack
I cannot see
But only feel
From far away
Wrapped in grey
Cloud cover
Hovering
This silent love.

Winter

Winter in silence
Surrounded by chilled air
Blowing cold beneath
Grey skies over ink black
Waters
Patrolled by prayers
Sent beyond the mountains
Prayers kindled as a bonfire
Against the darkness,
Frozen and bitter these
Times of exile,
Seemingly endless and
No roads leading out beyond
Except in watching with
Breathing silence
Floating on the frosted air
Putting one foot forward
Hoping the foot behind
Will always follow.

Impressions

 The days grow shorter now
In autumnal changes
As gardens rest
Tucked in the good brown earth.
A quiet has fallen
Midst the reds and gold
Breathtaking in dying
Leaf shed garments
Lying at the feet beneath
Tall tree sentinels 
Naked now in graceful pose.

Behind the funeral home
The waft of burning weed
Three men huddled
Defiant of law and place
Eager I move beyond their gaze
To watch the overhead crows
Collecting walnuts
Dropping them from heights
To the hard pavement roads
Waiting for the cars
To break open the
Unyielding ones,
As time is wont 
To pour over our stubborn
Ways.
How does the heart
Break open outward
To follow the fading light
Into a timeless sun
Constant in every season.

Blue

The other night I woke
Beneath the crushing 
Burden of sadness, a
Chill in the night with
Heart grown cold and
Life draining from every pore.

Had sorrow been waiting 
Beneath that lamp light
We walked through
Under a starry sky
Illuminated by the waxing
Blue moon?

Where does this sadness
Gather such force
So heavily felt?
Perhaps the dead
Calling out for prayers,
Or hearts lost in the wilderness
Crying out for help
Under that haunting orb
Shining beyond the shadow graves.

Into time it wanes
As it slips beyond
These smothered thoughts
To let me breath again
To dream, to rest
To pray these wandering souls
Along their way.

Thunder

Oh, Lord, I am so sorry to be
such a son of thunder,
my blood boils at the tyranny
Your flock endures from
these clerical stones in the road,
who will not enter the way
or let anyone journey near
unless running over them at full speed.
When will you free us
from these prison guards
parading in your name,
piling up punishment
beyond the grave?

I could shout this from
every roof top
for miles and miles around,
if it would do any good.
I know this is not Your way
but alas,
 I still am a thunder cloud
on the horizon,
black and menacing,
I hope to bother You
so You cannot resist
the noise of this silent storm
rumbling indignation from below.

Broken

All the broken people
hidden away in winter's chill
emerge in the spring sunshine
walking the streets.
We pass by
the young girl, heavy with flesh
repulsing the advances of
the lustful,
talking out loud to herself
eyes straight forward
determined.
Later, when I see her again
she is participating intensely
in a full blown drama
live with audio bits
gives me a glance, a mere
audience member who quickly
exits.

All the broken people
wandering but not different
none of us being born
under warranty
replacement parts available
upon request,
the completely new model
only possible under
certain conditions.

We all have broken days
silently patched together
sometimes very vocal.
We move together through time
carrying our burdens,
sharing the pain made bearable
with Him who gives us strength
each day to turn the other cheek
to being struck or broken
and in need of mending.

We Be Sheep

We be sheep,
this phrase echoes inside me
 a mysterious chant like thread
through my thoughts
these days.

We be sheep,
at the mercy of shepherds
some who care and suffer
in their search for safe pastures,
green and fertile
where we may safely graze.

We be sheep,
who often are led
by harsh shepherds
who treats us as goats,
leading us to sharp ravine valleys
up to finger hold rocky slopes,
left to the elements
beating us, often drenched
shivering and deserted.

We be sheep
found by the Good Shepherd
He calls to us in our distress,
we will not be lost,
it is ours to endure
sometimes dying and sad
always loved and
carefully cherished.