You drove me insane. By every second, witholding, ceasing to exist as a possibility... Your kind smile so easily afflicts me by the ever tempting vision of it being an effacing memory, something doomed to be in the past....
by your very witholding, by your hasteless carelessness, callousness I mean.
That it hurts to be suspended by the splendour of hope and the apparent inconsequence of putting out into the deep.
Swiftly, call, or, no...swiftly.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Little House
Little House
The little house sits, no, tucks itself between the folds of the undulating hills. The trees sway gently, unperturbed by the sight of an impending onslaught of thunder and lighting. Then, a light within the house exclaims and dims, but only in one window, framing a sort of signal, only for you.Again, it repeats and dims off like a heart beat.
The winds whispers quietly, rolling lowly over the thin blades of grass at your feet, in wave forms, each one slightly different, slightly warmer or cooler than the preceding one.
You choose the brave on, treading down a gentle but ever increasingly steep descent, with no moon to guide, no leading sound that beckons... only the faint suspicion that the light asks for it to be discovered.
The little house sits, no, tucks itself between the folds of the undulating hills. The trees sway gently, unperturbed by the sight of an impending onslaught of thunder and lighting. Then, a light within the house exclaims and dims, but only in one window, framing a sort of signal, only for you.Again, it repeats and dims off like a heart beat.
The winds whispers quietly, rolling lowly over the thin blades of grass at your feet, in wave forms, each one slightly different, slightly warmer or cooler than the preceding one.
You choose the brave on, treading down a gentle but ever increasingly steep descent, with no moon to guide, no leading sound that beckons... only the faint suspicion that the light asks for it to be discovered.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Muse: The most 'depressing' night in a while.
He sits. I ask him if he likes the rain and he says, "I find it soothing".
And down on the pavement, the puddle grows as if the drops from heaven were for it alone, and as if to concur with him, the puddle whispers with each drop of rain into it's body, perhaps begging to be heard. "But, I can hear you", I tell her.
"I am not mysterious", he said, a while ago.
But how can this be?, I think. I can hear you too.
His eyes gazes in a distance not calculable and he doesn't know it is so. As is all things, mystery is what your eye does not want to see.
And down on the pavement, the puddle grows as if the drops from heaven were for it alone, and as if to concur with him, the puddle whispers with each drop of rain into it's body, perhaps begging to be heard. "But, I can hear you", I tell her.
"I am not mysterious", he said, a while ago.
But how can this be?, I think. I can hear you too.
His eyes gazes in a distance not calculable and he doesn't know it is so. As is all things, mystery is what your eye does not want to see.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Muse: The papers between us
In a box he finds me,
With words so small - tiny,
In perfect order - place,
Longing for His embrace.
And when silence doth prove,
Solitude absolute,
He teases me with gall,
In white papers stacked tall.
Thus when his touch departs,
On paper, yes his thoughts,
All dreams seem open - given,
And desires, thrown wide e'en.
Father, brother... smitten,
Child-like art mine feelin',
Craving something similar,
Estranged by something nearer.
With words so small - tiny,
In perfect order - place,
Longing for His embrace.
And when silence doth prove,
Solitude absolute,
He teases me with gall,
In white papers stacked tall.
Thus when his touch departs,
On paper, yes his thoughts,
All dreams seem open - given,
And desires, thrown wide e'en.
Father, brother... smitten,
Child-like art mine feelin',
Craving something similar,
Estranged by something nearer.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Muse: The ... in everything
He sees the sun in the moon,
the breathless charm on the skin of eggs,
a prophecy in an ellipse.
the breathless charm on the skin of eggs,
a prophecy in an ellipse.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Muse: Thirst
God wills that He thirsts for souls.
What kind of god asks that He be loved?
What could we possibly have done to ever deserve Him
other than that He wills that His love, since He always loves first, be put to the test.
Yes, no other faith asks us to believe in a God, so omniscient, so benevolent,
that He himself can be exhausting, asking, thirsting for the most essential answer Man
has ever wanted from anyone, Do you love me? . When Christ says "I thirst" (one of his Seven Last Words), this is His fifth word. Perhaps one could see this to be the fulfillment of all the five books of the Law (Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy), that in fact, it is God who thirsts for us. Not the other way around. He then goes on to say, "It is finished" and "Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit.
What a strange and profound gift He leaves us. A request. That He is thirsting to be loved. And in that fifth word the entire question of our purpose and need is thus answered. God loved us first. Had he not, He would not have thirsted for us to love Him in return.
We are obsessed with the conundrum of whether God exists. And often, our understanding of God seems to necessitate that either He does something or we do something to prove His existence. But, God simply is. All that we do simply does not add or subtract to what God is. But when we do so, we are simply doing something in response to that first Thirst.
What kind of god asks that He be loved?
What could we possibly have done to ever deserve Him
other than that He wills that His love, since He always loves first, be put to the test.
Yes, no other faith asks us to believe in a God, so omniscient, so benevolent,
that He himself can be exhausting, asking, thirsting for the most essential answer Man
has ever wanted from anyone, Do you love me? . When Christ says "I thirst" (one of his Seven Last Words), this is His fifth word. Perhaps one could see this to be the fulfillment of all the five books of the Law (Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy), that in fact, it is God who thirsts for us. Not the other way around. He then goes on to say, "It is finished" and "Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit.
What a strange and profound gift He leaves us. A request. That He is thirsting to be loved. And in that fifth word the entire question of our purpose and need is thus answered. God loved us first. Had he not, He would not have thirsted for us to love Him in return.
We are obsessed with the conundrum of whether God exists. And often, our understanding of God seems to necessitate that either He does something or we do something to prove His existence. But, God simply is. All that we do simply does not add or subtract to what God is. But when we do so, we are simply doing something in response to that first Thirst.
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