The Crescendo

I rage, I toil, I cower and sweat.

I have not met my maker yet

and if I meet him I shall say,

‘Please come again another day.

I am not ready. I am not ripe.

The times not right!’ I’d wail and gripe.

I’d beg of him right there some sign

that he was fair; that fate aligned

and gave me all that I deserved

not less and from the path I swerved

by some dark power ill beset

to full crescendo of regret.

And in the whisper there I heard

the tempest break at silent words.

I knew, and he reminds me now,

that I deserved much worse allowed

for fate is held by piercèd hands

that save each one from fair demands.

From instant darkness, ash, and flame

and takes upon himself the blame

So God the Father please forgive

my angry heart; my will to live.

Teach me—slowly—how to die

that I might live for more than lies—

not what I see but for the hearts

That beat for thee—in distant parts—

a tune you love to hear and share:

The music of the lives you cared

enough to bring out from the dark.

And each that beats and stills you mark

as yours—this orchestra of strings.

So take my heart and make me sing:

Now in life and then in death,

may all I do; may every breath

be all for you my Elohim—

the Ever Greater Than He Seems.

How It Feels Sometimes

I cling, white knuckled, to this supersonic freefalling animal. My fingers strain, in tufts of hair, to hold on. When my grip seems strongest I find out it is weakest. I nearly let go but still I hold on. This mad beast, this psychotic animal does not heed my call. I try to guide it, I try to direct it. It changes direction constantly. Its twitching leaps and jolts thrash me about. I do not know where it is taking me. The heavy shadow of an insignificant future weighs upon me dragging me down. Everything before me is dark. Yet the rampaging speed never falters as I cling.

I pass places I want to stop at and linger for too long at places I would rather pass through.  I learn things I should have remained ignorant about and remain ignorant about things I should know. This spastic creature drags me face down in the mud. I see the people, the skies, the buildings, the birds. They make no sense to me. The dirt is in my eyes and the mud is in my mind. I am travelling at breakneck speeds with no control.

I can survive the lack of control.

Not knowing the destination is what gets to me.

(I wrote this last year, the title is all the explanation that is necessary) 

Ambivalence on the Heath

(I wrote this last year. It is about the times when you do what is comfortable and easy instead of what you know to be right; and it's about getting past those times.)

When dark the paths of evening grow

And pale the light remains

The lands lay still apart from crows

Their hollow calls disdain

Those watchers and those walkers still

Upon the roads below

Who fight and strive to go at will

Beyond the heath plateau.

And I amongst those strivers stay;

A shadow in the moors,

Lonely wandering from the way

To open secret doors.

I find within a comfort spot;

A place to rest my head

And there I stay - it seems my lot

To rest until I'm dead.

It's safer here beneath this roof

Than walking the long road

And maybe I will see some proof

That lifts my heavy load.

Until that day I'll rest and wait

As my short time grows dim

And in me grows a rising hate

For life upon the rim.

The rim of all that it should be;

Of pain and struggles more.

I've settled for a tiny fee.

I'm all that I abhor.

And when the loathing grows too much

I'll set out once again

Before I turn a wraith; no touch

Will warm this hollow man.

And on the path once more I'll see

The struggles and survive.

I'll learn that it takes more for me

To feel and act alive.

As I do march through this long night,

By light of guiding Star,

I slowly see dawn's pale new light

Now glowing from afar.

From there, beyond the fresh green lands,

I see the shining sea

The sun does rise with open hands

And warmly welcomes me.