Few Are the Days I Do Not Weep

few-are-the-daysOh my child…. My daughter.…
Few are the days I do not weep for you.
I see such ache of love and loneliness that fills your heart—
Each day, each day it seems to grow, then passes away.
But this is life, the sum and depth of it as all alive must face.
Walking along empty streets, you hesitate and look,
Falter when your mind is focused on anger or despair.
I see it in your eyes. I see the whole of your soul in you.

Each afternoon I see the appointed hour of desolation,
Watch as it sinks its claws into tender flesh—
I see and yet am helpless to protect you.
You do not wish to return home, even if you could.
The world lies at your feet and to return to the past
Would be to exile too many treasured dreams.
In truth, I know you’ve found the Earth too wide,
Too deep, too filled with glory for your free life to bear.

You know I, too, have stumbled on unfriendly streets,
Grown mad with furious and wild desires—
Earth seems too small to satisfy all we long for.
We who have been crazed by hunger and known
Waning of gathering days, we walk the streets,
Hallways, pathways seeking for greater love
Than small and confining loves we’ve lost.
This, too, is life, where each must seek the depths.

So many forgotten faces. So heavy the waste of time…
Yet still we stand on cloudless nights to gaze
Upon bright stars, seeking a cinder more kind than Earth.
We do not belong here and never have and cannot return
Through closed doors or greater knowledge.
No tears, no prayers, no god will grant our foolish wishes.
If there be God, let us hope for a larger God
Than would merely end our dazed and clouded vision.

Each of us alone must contend with thorns of spring.
Adder and asp will always be the same—
We cannot hope to escape our human nature.
But even if alone, play your music every night;
Look within your heart, not for comfort, but Silence.
Only then can you swim from shallows into the Deep,
Only then can you begin to make this world
The finest place to be.

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Where the Glory Comes From

where-the-glory-comes-from
For hours, lying in absolute darkness,
I traveled as though on ocean voyage—
Sensing nothing, hearing nothing,
Slow rocking of the skiff, alone as
Waves sloshed against my cradle.

A long and eerie voyage to a far off land
Where light had no source,
No Sun dawned to warm the air.
And finally here, upon shore of vastness,
The Dark Man came so very close we almost touched.

I felt that I had met him many times before,
Yet did not know his name—
Nor if he had a name at all.
Strangely, I was not afraid, in spite of all the work
Remaining to be done. Yet there was regret.

Only on this voyage to utter darkness
Did I finally see I was but a grain of sand,
Exuberantly clinging to breath, barefoot,
Gazing out farther than eye should be allowed to see….
And I knew I had so much more to understand.

I have strong desire to live and love—
And where the glory comes from, I cannot say,
But it is here about me, surrounds and upholds me,
As though I’ve been given wings to rise, to gaze
Upon the world and for the first time,
Be aware and give words to what I see.

Walking Alone in Winter Woods

Walking Alone in Winter Woods

Sometimes in winter
I walk alone, deep within the woods.
Cold wind whispers through bare branches
When late in afternoon
Darkness begins to grow.

Of course, I shiver—
Fight against a bitter fear
That clings upon the heart
With quiet piercing chill.
How changed it is from when
Summer woods were lush and green.

Yet even in this silence
Found in opening of the year,
Wild music soft as clinking crystal ice;
Rustling of dead reeds that wraps
Around river’s frozen bend.

Sitting upon the bed of snow,
I yearn to catch deep meaning
Brought by biting wind that blows,
Sense a subtle bond that links,
Lingering among old trees.

Some may think this a barren time.
For me it is close to paradise—
This fading glint of dazzling light
Against a silent world of white
Stretching endless to horizon of my sight.