The Messengers

I looked up to the blue above, to a flock of silent birds,

Their whiteness dimmed by only light

Their flight a shadow in my sight

I asked if weakness, they could take. They flew without a word.

I looked up again, to ask, to beg, to see if they would share

Their lovely little bit of air

Their basking glory, naught despair

I asked if they would take me up to see and be aware.

Ignored, but patience creased my brow, to wait for one to hear

And fluttered on the white wings south

I brought my hand up to my mouth

I whispered, “take my soul to Him” and then my vision cleared.

Perhaps that’s why I like snow so much

If you need me I’ll be hanging out in a tree,

Or laying in the snow and watching stars with frozen eyes.

Tasting all the chemicals I find that I can see,

Or maybe I’ll just be praying that I’d die.

If you want me don’t start to look where I should be

Don’t look for DNA or my carbon in the ashes.

I might be alone now, I might be at home

Or maybe I’m a goner somewhere where you can’t come.

I might be on the roadside, hit and run, or better, roadkill

I might be a little thinner at the bottom of a cliff.

I might be in my car, and you’ll never know

If I did it on purpose- or if it was a car malfunction.

If you want to find me, don’t ask me any questions,

Save your breath for saying goodbye,

Farewell, to my cold, dead corpse.

Perhaps that’s why I like snow so much.

Beyond the Clay

I cannot see beyond the clay

That You have made aware

I reach my hand beyond today

Beyond my deadened stare.

If peace is plentiful beyond

I ask that You might share

A piece of that, which You’re so fond,

And show me that You care.

I’m sorry for my doubting heart,

My lack of faith or hope.

From You, I can’t live life apart

Without, I wouldn’t cope.

I’m standing on my battle ground

Alone except for You

But are You here and all around?

You’re not within my view.

Break me if You want to; show me!

Don’t let me have control.

Break my life down ‘til I agree

Then build me to be whole.

 

Bloom

A copse, a wood, I named.

I named her Bloom for flowers

Trace her scarcely shroud

Cleave from its high-born frost

Misty, sheltered, framed;

A valley, soft rain showers.

Peers the sun behind the cloud,

The hillside in mountain lost.