Who sleeps anymore in the majesty of giving

every waking instant to the souls of the living

and dead? Who subsides in spirit and wonder,

dreaming of times when Love lifts from under

burden and toil wingéd hearts to sing aloud

the "Song of Songs" to meek and proud,

to little and great, innocent and shamed?

Who escapes the omnipresence of Love's name?

Who sighs in deep slumber while Love is ablaze

throughout Creation, but the children, the babes

of Love's clear expression, made to be blessed

with holy days and soulful nights, ever caressed

by Love's own Light, surely born of Grace

and Mercy, infinitely kept sacred and safe

as Love Itself, by angels and saints

in Love consumed, elated, blessed and saved.

Arise, little children. Join the choirs in singing,

while awake of love, while reposed to Love clinging.

Battle Lines

How grave the abandonment!

How bitter the taste of love unrecognized!

While my heart calls everyone friend,

the enemies of truth and beauty connive

to undermine what's noble and free,

set traps to ensnare me in my own words,

wait for the opportunity to mock my grief,

ridicule my faith as being absurd.

How venomous the attacks!

How futile the curse of those consumed with pride!

While I search for Truth without end,

the bitter grow ruthless, plot bold designs

to crucify the very soul of Peace,

ignite fires to crosses to be loudly heard,

bury the image of Christ upon His knees,

scornfully jeer like the mockingbird.

When the ruin is complete,

Christ the King will be.

Cove of Peace

Past Epiphany, I scan the Valley of Death

for one to lead us back to our senses.

In the black pit of rebellion no one prays

or wails for God's Mercy. All is unreal.

No heart wants to believe in Love's Promise.

No clear voice echoes above time's turmoil.

No child is safe. All have succumbed to guile.

Yet the witness to the crime calls, "Come.

Come Home, little ones. Come back to Love."

As the Wise Men followed the Star of David,

the faithful, kept guarded in heaven's womb,

follow the Morning Star and angel of dawn

into a clearing, an oasis away from Death

-- the Immaculate Heart of Mary --

trusting unto eternity the gentleness of her eyes

revealing the fullness of God's Grace.

Redeeming, pure and innocent, they guide

meek hearts into the bliss of Christ's side.

Darkness parted by Light. Death conquered by Life.

Lovers survive on the Precious Blood of Christ.

By a Pool of Tears

I

Born into solitude, I paint the twilight's veil

crimson red, the color of my true Love's Heart,

and contemplate what the hours of night forebode;

more sorrow, greater faith, peace, dry silence?

A desert song I sing, a tale of burning tears,

each drop purifying my soul in Love's bitterness,

reminding me of this penitential existence apart

the Source of Life, this exile from the One I love.

All suffering looms bearable 'neath the Holy Cross.

Here insignificant our pains become, yet the loss

of the sight of God in the shadowed eyes of those

we love for His greater glory chills aspiring souls.

Who can walk alone? No one in safety save for

the guardianship of angels directed in purity,

humility and obedience. I compose nothing now.

Under the tutelage of mighty patrons, I conspire

the merit in daring to hope when hope seems gone,

when your friends turn against you, when you cry alone,

unheard by human ears, uncared for, unheld, unloved,

and every breath seems like your last. What a woe!

What a cost for caring. What a purgatory for loving.

While babies set free their last sigh to blue stars

rising above them, I sigh for my Mother's sweet arms

to enfold me, press me gently to her sighs serene,

and quiet me in the still of maternal compassion.

Oh, for the death of sleep, the peace of gentle eyes,

longing only for my happiness! Oh, for the embrace

of someone who cares for me! Oh, for tenderness!

Weaned on Divine Love shared by blesséd victims,

those fortunate enough to live and die for Love,

I pray to expire in the Blessed Sacrament, and weep

for the All-Fluent Spirit to set me free to smile again.

The evening stretches into dawn. Day follows night.

If I can dream of shared beauty, then I shall fly

above these awful burdens and dwell with good friends,

knowing that, come morning, my soul that has no end

will chase music, grace and virtue like a lamb

soothed by the waters of Love everlasting and

my Shepherd's kind Hand. Oh, for His calming Voice!

Oh, for the magical caress of His Love! Oh, to rejoice!

II

I live in tears, the way the lonely do in time,

struggling to make sense of suffering. I'm

no longer living the joy-filled days of youth,

aging quickly in the harshness of love untrue.

What happened? How can love disappear so soon?

How can friends stop being friends, follow tunes

not melodic or harmonious and falsely accuse

your giving as being unkind? How can they abuse

those once cherished more than life itself?

How can they erase the memory of sweet souls

lyrically respondent to each's needs, seek

substance in passing things and scourge the meek?

I am an ocean of sadness, a watery outcast, an

humiliated prisoner, an incarcerated man

set to pray for the conversion of hard hearts,

and offer my agony that other lovers never part,

that souls entrusted with another's to love

never let go the reins, never let anything shove

them away from their togetherness, stand firm

in adversity, remain loyal in sun and rain.

I live in tears, the way the lonely do in time,

The cost of love is sorrow. I live it in this rhyme.

Don't say forever unless you mean it.

People like me tend to believe it,

tend to trust all love comes from beyond...

and so, we're susceptible to this song.

Don't say, "I love you." unless you'll die

for what you confess for another's life.

Anything short of sacrifice is a waste.

Surrender your life or save your breath.

Love is a bond that has no end,

a friend enduring with a friend,

a gift to be treasured long past time,

the message of God's only Son.

What yardstick is used to measure grace?

Time? Patience? Perseverance? Faith?

God's every virtue saints aspire,

but how do we measure hearts afire,

burning without end, consumed in desire?

Our mortal understanding is not enough

to grasp the infinite nature of Love,

and try as we might, we can't explain

why true love blazes in joy and pain.

'Tis an immeasurable gift best left as one.

God's grace is His Love. His Will be done.

Shining On

It's amazing how time goes on.

Were we to decease, it still would flow,

sometimes softly, sometimes hard,

in the Grace of our loving Father.

So blessed are all who live in time,

given the chance to become child-like,

gleam in the eyes of our Saving Lord,

dwell forever in His Almighty Word.

So wonderful this promise divine,

were we to respond to everyone kindly

and radiate peace and joy sublimely,

we'd know the harmony someday we'll see.

Listening must lead to deeper sense.

When we learn to listen we're recompensed.

comes from the heart and not the mind.

In this contentment stronger than night,

I sail oblivious to all but Love's soul, kind,

benevolent, quick to forgive my faults,

inspire this awareness, and place time behind

my spiritous being, my poet heedful Love's call

to triumph in the mystical bliss of rhyme.

The quiet of solitudinous moments becalms

aspiring children awaiting to respond

to music more clear than sunlight. No qualms

about transcending this place of black fronds,

people uncentered in anything but doubt.

So while worldly desires motivate many

unconscious God's Words, revolving about

passing fancies, the humble pray without any.

Why be satisfied with what we see

when what's unseen is the greater mystery?

Why place faith on the passing train

not the Eternal Word, always the same?

What fascinates us in this world of change?

What prompts us to behave insanely?

Why praise man's creations more than

God's beneficent Grace -- the Son of Man?

It appears, on the surface,

the face most seek

is their own.

This world is a prison in which You are

the only sanctuary, as near and far

the enemy encamps and boldly plans

the destruction of Love and man.

This church is a castle in which You are

adored by Your angels, as too, by stars,

Your ordained priests who kneel in prayer,

and docile souls kept whole in Your care.

These times of fierce battle in which You are

our solace and strength implore stout hearts

to heed more than e'er Your innermost Voice

of peace eternal, for You speak without noise.

Whilst outside evil prowls endlessly,

in Your Presence all are safe, without need.

No prison will ever separate us from

Your infinite Grace and merciful Love.

I shant stop thinking of you.

In Your Blood I'm consumed.

In Your Heart is my tomb.

For me there lives no other.

You are the perfect lover,

about me all the time,

within this simple rhyme,

o'er every thought I fathom,

in riverways and chasms of greenery and grace,

behind the commonplace,

the little and unnoticed,

in quietude and solace,

in songs of mirth and pleasure,

in Beauty and Truth's romance,

by flowering field, white-capped sea,

in every molecule of me,

within each race of humankind

whispering, "Come. Be Mine."

Dear God, increase forever.

Let all who love be treasures

that in Your Son's Heart glisten

like dew drops taught to listen,

within deepest devotion,

intently to Your motion

and the silent undulations

of Your benign Creation.

Oh, my God, I love you.

I shant stop thinking of you.

In Your Mind I'm enshrined.

In Your Light there's no time.

Oh, Mother Mary, come to me in light.

Reveal God's plan for my poor servile soul,

that I may swiftly follow as your knight,

angelically reposed in faith, and hope

and love... as Jesus, your most gentle Son.

Instill within my little heart the fire

burning in yours for Father, Son and Ghost,

and too, compassion and the deep desire

to live as Jesus hidden in the Host.

Towards Dawn

What becomes of suffering and strife

once we pass away from earth

so arid and dark? What meaning our life

beyond this vale of woe? What is our worth?

The answer lies within our Savior's Passion,

His gentle Love and Mercy for His own.

Our merit lies in His. In pain we're fashioned

alike our Lord in holiness -- whole and lone.

As the Cross redeems countless sons and daughters,

our triumph comes in death, that our poor souls

might recognize His victory in others

blessed steadfast both in happiness and woe.

Regardless where the songbird rests,

the song he longs to sing the best is

"Love!"

No matter what around him flies,

the song he loves to croon and sigh is

"Love!"

In vale of tear, on star-tipped mountain,

his heart is an ever-flowing fountain of

love.

Cross flat land or the ocean's main,

his soul exudes the sweet refrain of

"Love!"

No matter where the songbird nests,

the song he longs to sing the best is

"Love! Love! Love!"

Recollection of Providence

Youth -- that magical time that knows no end,

when tenderness consumes our within.

Truth -- the deepest emotion of human hearts

cultured in Wisdom, ne'er torn apart.

Time -- the longsome trail towards Love's Home,

where the valorous learn they're never alone.

Space -- the place I long to fill with rhyme,

that men might find love within time.

Faith -- the mystical ingredient

that binds our souls to more than sense,

for what is life without belief

in more than what we hear and see?

Pure Beauty comes from Love beyond

our understanding. Let this be known.

Love isn't what we see with our eyes,

but with our hearts and souls

attentive to the motion of grace

streaming from sunrise to sunrise

in every sigh that lives.

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