Beloved, does it
weary Your soul
that Your children -
these mere match strikes
in the dark, a puff
of breath, a hint of
breeze, a falling
snowflake - turn
their backs on You?

Does it weary Your soul?

Does it anchor You
down as it weighs me
down, a full dawning
of the immense and
appearingly unmeasureable
insanity that absorbs
to the ions of this
world?

Does it weary Your soul?

It wearies me but
there is a moment when
Your Spirit breathes
in clarity and an
awaking realization
to the time beofre Creation
when You knew this
possible state of the
world and continued
forward nonetheless
for Your Love of me

Dearest Friend,
We haven't met
yet, know not each
other's name, and
know not the hour
we will meet but
we be on each other's
mind and we keep
coming to our Beloved
asking, when?
But all the while
praying He will send
someone who is like
Him

They built their country
on the bones of their people
buried them beneath highways
roadways, and parking lots whilst
riding upon them with eyes wide shut.

We do not despair
as the world looks
on without hope
in sight, but
sit quietly under
the Shadow of the Rock
walk peacefully under
the Span of His Wing
and greet one another
in His love

The Dirge for Misplaced Maritimers

there's water in our bones
and though we be far from
sea and shore it beckons
to us across the prairies
to return to murmuring lullabies
and be rocked gently by
high tide and low tide;

there be water in our bones...

In my utmost being,
I desire You to enter,

Come in, open windows,
Swing back doors,

harrow heart's soil
to plant daisies,

Well up the Spring,
To tune my bones
and let them sing!

You wrote me a love letter
a while ago and I've been rereading,
at times meandering, but nowadays
with purpose, flesh out Your voice,
hear the Calm, and rest assured
in the cradle of Your words,
of, It'll be alright

I keep waking up into the face
of this reality, staring at me
with morphing face of terror,
pain, choas, but graced with
lines of love (which I see You drew)
and in my surprise, grab and
throw out the window of my
mind's bedroom

So I am rereading Your love letter,
the one You left me long ago,
and beside me, You read out
the Words that feed my soul,
strengthen heart roots
I find myself
standing outside
Your door

Before morning and the
light of day, we awaken
ourselves, and without delay
go out to pick up pearls

And in life's coves,
amongst weedy woes
we glean for ourselves -
pearls

Don't give me praise
but rather tell me,
is your soul fed?

my actions, these movements
are not to idolize self
but to feed your soul;
to build you up
and tear me down

this self-centered being
for too long a time
has, unawares, campaigned
to be queen of the castle
and you the dirty rascal

but no more, for in quest of
self, I die slowly, whither
to the soul and I lay
gasping

So my Father showed me
deny thy self, and pursue
the building up of others

so, are you being fed?