Saturday, January 28, 2012

Old and New Heart

The old earth lies with longing,
The new earth bursts with bloom,
And banks where waves were thronging
Are still and safe from gloom.
The ship rests in the harbor,
So far from pain and cold,
The sails, and wheels, and timber,
In oceans' gentle folds.
So is the heart when sleeping,
A soft thing, warm with peace,
Awakened by the weeping
Of old things out of place;
And fresh with new tomorrows,
Yet sweet and sharp with love,
Unused to yester's sorrows
But bright with hope Above.

Monday, January 23, 2012

Second Chances

Winter, summer, springtime flowers
Ring the skies and bind the hours
Stars on fire, always burning
Like her heart is always yearning.
August, August, brief tomorrow
Transient things are joy and sorrow,
But their love will last forever
In the memories of the weather.
Moontime songs, and suntime wonders
Rains thick-set with colored thunders,
Mills in meadows, wheels broken
Like the soul's soft, melted token.
He's the forest, she's the willow
Long ago in autumn's pillow
Left to fade when he discovers
Other lands with other lovers.
God, eternal, God, unchanging,
All the blossoms still arranging,
And the dove upon the branches,
Dreaming dreams of second chances.

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Nothing Compares to God's Earth

I thought you were comparable,
A thing of shining worth;
But you are small compared to skies
Which turn around the earth,
And you are mean, and savage, too,
Compared to spring and blooms,
And crueller than the dreams I knew
Or meadow-bearing rooms.
God grants me peace, you grant me hurt,
And so I shall remain
In love through light and summer storms
And leaves laden with rain.
I'll leave you now to winter's past
While I'm alive and well,
And wander through the amber grass
And oceans' swirling swells.

Monday, January 16, 2012

Hope Past Darkness

I forget that I lie in a world without hope,
In a world laced with darkness, a night's fire stoked,
Where the stars seem to tremble when thunder comes near,
And my innocence rests in the eyes of a deer.
Yet the meadow still calls to me, speaks: I'm afraid
Of the moon which seems threaded in scimitar's blades,
But the silence is soothing, and blackness will pass
As the music of Good soothes the slumbering grass.
Though the hallways are smeared with the handprints of men,
And the anger of ages yet triumphs again,
There is purity, still, in the tongue of the wind,
And the colors of years that the seasons will blend.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

The Sheen

I know when the dark moon sets on the world
Is bright with a thin white sheen of pearl,
As if the remainder of life could be felt
In the silence of stars on the earth's soft quilt.
When the sun says farewell to the storm and the rain
And shines through the thin, heady reeds on the plain
I know that my spirit has fled from the earth
And dwelt in the Place where it first had worth.