Tag: Poetry

The Dream of Sorrow

The grayness surrounds us
As my love stares into me with eyes
Filled with affection.
Outside of her, is fright toward the gray world.
I am happy;
Joyous even.
But she, toward me, is full of love
As her other eye casts a doubtful glance
Into the grey abyss
As if it were filled with fright about something.

I look as if I were my favorite author
And she looks beautiful,
In gray hair,
Though that eye looking outward
Frightens me severely.
What is it that she is seeing?
In toward me it is love
But outward
It is fright,
Even the dull gray
Of a world. Like one were looking into a lake
Gray and colorless.
Though I am happy.

I do not know what the vision means.
Only that I am in it.
I would gladly take she who saw it
Or I will take the woman in the dream.
Make joyous sounds
O Israel,
For your time has yet to come.

Yet, I am frightened by the eye
Casting doubt on the grey world.
Yet, toward me she is happy.

The Alchemist’s Magic

During the time of King Arthur,
There arose a dispute between Merlin
And an Alchemist.
The dispute was over the interpretation of
A story; namely the story of a princess 
Who fell in love with a prince
Who rescued her,
And upon their first kiss, the spell of sickness was released from her.
The Alchemist spoke on the matter
That the union between the prince and princess
Was not about love, per say,
But was rather about the soul finding its unity
Like the unity between the Earth and the Seas.

"I heard the Alchemist's reflections,"
Said Merlin,
"On the meaning of the tale.
"I thought of her magic;
"It was immensely strong, yet my knowledge of
"Word was stronger.
"Where she dove into herself...
"Deep reflections,
"Deeper than the rivers and the oceans---
"I read the Tale for what it actually meant,
"And saw that it was not so deep.
"Yet, in it I could see what she could not.
"A glimmer of hope
"Which her jaded soul stopped believing in long ago.
"For some reason, she had wanted the story to be about the soul
"Having knowledge of itself,
"And was offended at the notion
"That these two, upon a brief encounter, could be happily wed
"And therefore, be unburdened by the misery of their loneliness.
"What caused her to doubt the story's true meaning
"Was that she had not found that meaning in her own life
"Thus, she had created a meaning which suited herself.
"I am a lonely old fool too,
"But I have a rather different interpretation of the story
"That what it meant sufficed enough to say
"That true love of the kind does exist
"And I am happy to know that it does."

O’ Requiem of the Dead Poets

O' requiem of the dead poets
Alighted your vigor,
Your ancient souls do rest in the grave.
Your words course through me...
The subtle, inauspicious meanings
That the madman sees and says,
"Aha, it says nothing."
So little is said that is said
Loud, bold and obnoxious.
Inebriation of subtle inquiries
Subtle thoughts and subtle shadows
Of thoughts. I ask, "Why do you need
"A meaning that is loud, and bold
"When Rhetoric favors ignorance?
"However, subtle souls have taught me subtlety
"And with that the mingling of all knowledge."

Yet, it was foreseen that the man of inquiry
Did not want revealed the heart of another man
But to only look into a reflective pool.
He did not want to share, or understand.
Merely to have his own ideas shouted back at him.

Thus, blood ran in the streets.
Thus, dead were wheeled through the thoroughfares
For seven days of revolution.

All for loud, droning war songs
And not the quiet voice of reason
Understanding its world,
And gaining from it packets of wisdom
Which does not gallivant through the street
Nor does it make its words an enchantment.
It, rather, seeks to understand what others are too busy to understand
And pass by, leaving its little packet of pollen upon the pistil
To germinate into the next budding spring.

While pseudo-philosophers war over who is right
And who's brand of ideology shall be superior...
We, the poets---who are long dead, or shall die---
Leave behind the subtlety of more ancient wisdoms
Which the world, as it fights its wars
Would some day soon find again
And see there upon the page what folly it was
That right and wrong were not to be won by the muzzle of a gun
But were simply to be found, and rediscovered
A thousand times by
Us, the poets who are dead, or shall be dead.

The Validity of Belief

If there is Good, then there is a God.
There is good.
Therefore, there is a God.

Every skeptic I had ever talked to
Diligently claimed there wasn't any good.
At least no universal good.
To them, Good was
Like cologne or deodorant.
You got to choose it,
And then spray it on.

For anyone who had walked through the forest
And smelled a hint of a woman's body---
For the leaves when they decompose, sometimes,
Release a fragrance that smells like a woman's body---
Is it not wholly good?
Or that beautiful mien a woman gets when she is with children,
That accents her beauty.
There is also the beauty of a retired man going fishing
Content with his green, safari hat, casting into the water with peace.
There is also good when a whole family gets together
The kind that sees one another only once a year
And the Matriarch knows each one of them,
Some distant cousins,
Others the very kin who grew up with you.
There is a child feeding, and it gives its grunts.
There is a dog, happy to always see you at the door.
There are flowers, and the little bumble bees loafing 
To pollinate them.
There are two girls, best friends,
Who giggle and squeal when they see each other.
There are two boys, getting into harmless mischief.
There is discipline, a parent restraining their child
From going into the street---yes, this too is good
And is the beginning of even deeper wisdom.
Christmas carols, that exalted feeling one gets.
The poor. There is something inherently good in the poor.
Sex between a man and a woman who have committed their entire lives
To one another, and the chance that they will soon become one.

It follows that if there is Good,
Things universally good, that God exists.
For that is how logic works.
If the premise is true,
Then the conclusion is also true.
And that is how I know God exists.
Because there is good.
 
For you might ask, 
"Well, can there not be good,
"And also no God?"
No... not from my many engagements with skeptics.
The skeptics all say that good is preferential
Making it likely that good can also be masochistic.
That good can be cruel.
That good can be selfish.

And this cuts the line between good and evil.
That those who have lost their understanding of what good is
Are also the proof that there is indeed a link between Good and God.

Vision of Prosperity

One day, alighted upon my fortune
There came a weary traveler.
She had found a wellspring of tales
As seemingly old as time,
Yet discovered they were new.

"What have I found?"
She wondered, as tales abounded
Among the language of the Saxon.
What were these?
Rife with mystical creatures,
Yet such was the fortune found
That it suddenly appeared
To this modern writer's
Ancient poesy, 
That it was discovered
And thus enjoyed
For as long as time was kept.

Naturalized Citizen

For you, for you I write.
I see you truly understand my country.
I see you truly understand its good.
I see you cannot see a single one of its flaws.
I see you believe in what America once stood.

Trust me, I wish I could see it too,
But I must write these odes,
I must criticize.
I must tear the fabric of our nation apart.
So that way it will be stitched back together
The right way
And you will still have your rest.

The Fanatic

The fanatic raises his weapon high
Making the blood sacrifice of his faith
The bare chested woman's husband his blade
Drew the blood of; the infidels are nigh

His every thought. "Pay back the sins in blood---
"All the dead, be the propitiation!
"The alter of soil; alter of stone
"Drip the blood of the dead infidel's sons."

The saints of his religion pick up the
Wounded upon the street, those he had killed.
They balm them with the oils, wrap sterile 
Gauze across burned visage. For their religion was love.

In the Heart of Man

When I look upon the heart of a man
Who consciously decides to practice err
I see him strain so hard to do what's bad
Though I also see in that heart repair.

When I look upon the heart of a man
Who offends as part of his daily bread
I see a man whose best, I understand,
Is as bad as a man whose heart is dead.

Though in deed, the first man's crimes seem as worse
Than the man whose second deed is habit
What awful sin the first commit was choice
While the second man's sin is found avid.

Which is worse? I do say they are both same
And sad, but the first man, who's sorely grave
Repented and found his good heart again;
The second is bad, and will not be saved.

For the first man finds Jesus Christ and prays
While the second man rather stays his way.
One knows his sin, and the other cannot.
That is why one is saved while the other will rot.

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