Belles Lettres, Poetry, Essays

Well this taint is the tint
And the window is me
And without Your light,
I'll never be seen...

And the ocean is deep,
And the sky is wide,
But the greater of these,
Is inside (help me find it)...

O hope runs like a river in me,
Please, let the river, the river, run free!

O don't you feel like you have been
Sitting in your boat too long,
With your head up in a fog,
From all that you've done wrong?

But hope runs like a river, you see;
Runs through all that is strong and free.

I know, and I will never know
The reasons for these things,
Of how lives intersect at times
And founder by degrees;

Of how love comes, and all it brings,
And of uncertainties.

The very flavor begs intent,
and reminds me
of all that I must choose!

I will practice approaching
consciously,
I see it now...

How every "attachment" is mine
to own and to love,
until it and I are gone.

What is the purpose, then
of desire? Is it not just
lust?

Where do you go
when you are inside
your own mind?

What is light? And what is darkness?
And what lies in between?
Does the darkeness define the light,
Or light illumine this scene?

If perfect love is but a light,
And darkness but a fear;
With which decisions shall we unfold
The meaning of our year?

And what would a love, defined by fear
No more, even appear,
To we who gray and particolor
Hath ever held so dear?

Click, and click again, the silent wheels of logic churn
Inside the mind, and teach again
The effortlessness which to spurn
The language that our hearts doeth whisper fain...

Desire's the power
to make dreams flower.

Desire is the sight
for the arrow's flight.

Desire is the fire
that stokes ever higher.

It is the nod
that makes us like God.

Desire is the crook
that innocence took.

©1998