Tag Archives: Poetry
The book has been written but not yet been read and the life of the love of the living and dead are searching the highs and finding the blows of the fight and the trauma of flight too great for the one lonely death of the unknown life untried and untrue, but unlived and through you I have found that my blood courses too and my muscles, my eyes, my skin can be used when aligned to his will to his glory his story of me and my sad little life made anew from on high to become little like that of his and his alone on the mountain at dawn getting away from the work and away from the tears to laugh and sing the praises of life made right made day made green with buds on branches made dead by years of living inside of my head and denying the water of his divine truth killing myself and wanting to lose the only thing I was ever given: my life and my all to the garbage, I said and to hell with my future I will make more as a moral for others in death, and in dying make them finally find their loves and their lives unloved as mine was over too early and as if the universe now had a debt to be paid with the zeal of the rest of those still living in my memory and for my name, but how vain! and how selfish! to think that my fall woud be so tragic that others would be moved by my own sudden end and Christ’s irony is that my life now is work and the cross is my death every day at sunrise, new life, new breath, new radiant death and a new vision for myself through his eyes and his mind that I could not work to find or discern and now realize it is merely the beginning of things unseen and life undreamed, resung, reseemed — wrinkles and scars remain and nothing can be taken away fully forgotten or totally boxed even life itself is here in this moment and he is faithful to get me where I am going as long as I am faithful to get away from wherever I am and he will remove me if I am deemed unfit, unfight, unprepared for the work and he will take me to this place of ‘away’ of a way that I have not bothered to embrace and have not truly tried. I do not wish to read this book. I don’t want to know how the story ends. I still want to escape sometimes and go nowhere, but he pulls me back to himself, his places, and his people for his will. And all I can do is look with him to the new where he lives. The rest is too much. One day, but for now, I am away.