I Feel

Like a satellite.

Like a sleet-ragged vagrant.

Like a shepherd whose sheep have been taken.

Fed by another who has no real food.

Like a child, forced to remain.

As larger children define my domain.

Like a fish, whose dish was broken.

And they think that little fake castles and pirates will make it ok.

Like an ostrich.

They think that flying is better. Somehow.

They spend all day explaining aerodynamics and the history of winged birds.

But does it matter?

The hawks think so. Just so, the crows.

While they eat their children.

Taught to believe that I deserve not to believe.

Forced to love

As if I knew how.

Can I really live despising all who say they have life?

Can we really continue to discredit those who we're taxed to benefit?

Can you tell me that I'm wrong simply because you've never seen a reason that I'm right?

Like an elephant taught not to be grey.

Taught that long noses are unattractive.

You'd be happier with my appearance if I were not myself?

Maslow would disagree.

But then, living forever is hardly a means of survival.

How do we still punish murder

when men and women are handing each other over to death

in the dark

And calling it Love?

And for the Love of the precious Lord, our savior, an infant, why are you still killing babies?

Our Lady of Expectancy, help us.

Communion

O, Lady, will you dance with me

As I whisper sweet nothings of eternity?

Beloved, beloved, a dance so free--

No more perfect dance than ours would be.

O, Lady, I'll lead every step

If you but follow rhythmic lead.

I'll show you every move we make

before we still proceed.

O, Lady, don't say you know the way;

this is no well-played song.

I am the stone and architect,

Each piece where it belongs.

Oh, Lady, no! And how can you say that I don't long for you?

Don't turn away thinking you're not enough for me!

This is your home, your promised hope, Oh, to bear that you can't see

your eyes like doves,

your breath like wine.

Your words like honey,

Flowing in time.

O, Lady, O, Lady, let your joy still rise.

You've ravished my heart, my sister, my bride,

You've ravished my heart with one glance of your eyes.

O, Lady, O, Lady, do you hear me cry?

This moment is true, more than all others.

I stand here before you--like nowhere else.

This is me, this is me.

My self given--to you.

O, Lady, will you dance with me?

This, here, is faith, what it means to believe.

This one great song, wrought by perfect decree.

This is me, my Lady. I beg you to receive.

On the way to the Office

A man approached me in the street with an intriguing preposition.

So I stopped--I felt obliged by his lack of inhibitions.

"Among," he said, and wandered off--Went off to beg for dimes.

I shook my head, went on my way, stepping off in double time.

The music in my headphones stayed the same though the world blurred as I sped.

I tried to hear the rhythm past the thumping in my head.

Perception seems to grasp my mind, my sight affects my ears.

I hold that there are greater things than those I see or hear.

I wonder if it means a thing, to hear a poor man's rambling,

Every choice I choose to make exemplifies my gambling.

I must confess, I do enjoy that word which he proposed.

I'm far from assuming sanity--in fact, I am opposed.

It takes faith to take advice, to accept another's comments.

Though so few men do try belief in men with so few prospects.

Holy Tears is not a Virtue

Holy tears is not a virtue.
There is no sense to feeling saved.
Desolation is unpursued;
There's nothing so flashy as thoughts depraved.

Amphibious, we dance around
the truths we feel are on the ground,
where, as tadpoles, we cannot walk,
and all we do is dream, not talk.

I pray "Dona mihi Caritatis"
and falling on my knees,
I ignore my plenty follies
answering my own pleas.

I pray to Gods that I create
who give me gifts which I dictate.
The uncreated one looks on;
whose burning love defines the dawn.

Making sentiments of my own love,
my eyes fall down, no thoughts above.

Holy tears is not a virtue,
Humility is, and faith is too.
I teach myself that I believe
proving I cannot know truth.

The little lamb feels she is lost.
She runs back and forth, no cares for cost.
She would sacrifice her all
just to return, hear shepherd call.

But it turns out she was on the path
until she left to find one she could see.
But her eyes are still pointed down;
as if shepherd lived upon the ground.

Whether on the path, or not,
there is nothing we can say
for as we are, we cannot know
which sign might point the way.

What prayer is more likely to be heard,
than this: "thy will be done." What words
are united with his will
than those which sit on windowsills?
Those which float in on the breeze
come from 'cross the crystal seas?

I am myself.
That much I know.
But as for knowing thee
My knowledge is only that which you bestow.
Grant me not to adore you as I see,
but as thou know thyself to be.
Grant me not to search for answers
but to, in challenge, make acts of faith.
Grant me not, in spiritual battles
in the center of the field to wait.

Holy tears are not a virtue,
I seem to think that love consists of its signs.
Tongues are not the way to know you
but to find you in another's eyes.
To know you in your subtle ways,
your ultimate, undying passion,
which, by the spirit's constant aid
you place in our own human actions.

I ask not, Lord, for complex gifts,
I desire not to see thy love,
but to be single-hearted, caring,
to love thee simply would be enough.
And Lord, upon what petition is your mercy cast
than that which you beg to be asked?

Holy tears is not a virtue.
What virtue can there be but to
one day be a lily ewe.
If not thine Love, what Word is true?

O, Lady

Ecce Crucem Domini!
Fugite partes adversae!
Vicit Leo de tribu Iuda,
Radix David! Alleluia!

My Lady, O, my Lady,
Grant me always to adore,
My thirst and my salvation,
Our everlasting LORD.

What glory surrounds us, surrounds you now. May the Lord pour his blessing down upon you, and may you know, in his Word, the glory of man truly alive. May you ever seek his glory, for his name is glory. What honor he has put in our hands, and what beauty he has created. Pray for me, as I for you, and let us hold fast to Christ in our daily tests, for that is the fire of true love, of purity and single-heartedness, of a single goal and simple means.

Peace be upon you,
and all blessing be like a holy balm, dispensed by the hands of our Lady.

Goodnight, friends.

No Labradors in Purgatory

I saw the creature paddling
as she was wont to do
As master sat there with his son
beside the sunny pool.

Almost seeming to forget, for moments in the water,
that he who kept her living was watching there, beside her,

but every few moments--it was a fall day, but mild,
she rolled there on the grass before her master and his child.

She would, panting, run back with a splash, so joyfully, so free,
always returning, drying her fur, I could almost see
her learn to love her master from the gift of this fine outing,
and appreciate the water as the gift.

I thought how every pup could swim, could roll in grass,
Every girl can eat, can dance, can kiss,
But this fine dog had learnt to love both;
when so many pout at water, whine at bliss.

The golden hair of each, of pretty bitch or girl,
is wet by the watery affections of the world,
But when remembering her master, her sustainer, she would run,
her golden hair would shine, not with water, but with sun.

For master is there loving, holding his child,
rejoicing in the loyalty of this creature, this wild
beast he adopted, which he paid for, he keeps,
and whom, not without reproving, he loves and feeds.
This beast he adores, To whom he laid claim,
He made her loyal, honored her neck with a chain.

Water is happy, but master is joy
Our Father is greater than the world and its toys.

She'd paddle round, chasing a ball,
then game having been played, she'd paddle, he'd call
"Lady, come, time to go."
and leaving the ball, she joyfully came
when time to come home,
why would we cling to the game?

But it turned out all that running and rolling and repeated drying--
only brief times in the water, always trying
to maintain perspective, to remember the reason
for coming to water, though it seemed out of season;

This habit of letting the water roll off,
such that her body never learned to love the water
was not merely a habit formed by love for her master,
but also a habit which the master taught her.

This gift that's been given,
we receive, we enjoy,
and we thank our God
for this gift he's employed
to show how he loves us
how he loves our smile,
but after our travels,
after a while,

we must remember that though this gift
is all good, all proper when rightly equipped,
but our master, the Lord, from whom we receive
at his call, in a moment, we must be ready to leave

all these great gifts behind, fly to where he are,
because the master can't allow water in his car.

It ruins the upholstery.

Ethics

Romance hangs to beating drums
and tolerance and upright thumbs;
Romance hangs to lover's sighs
all virtue runs, then breaks, then dies.