I

Beneath your noble visage, Saint Michael,

I wait on my knees for the light of the Angels

to guide me most gently underneath the mantle

of the tender and compassionate Mother of God.

No stain on my soul. All has been purified

in the sanctity of sacramental forgiveness.

Before the Blessed Sacrament, with hallowed eyes,

the sound of Christ's coming my white soul espies.

I hear the armies of Heaven gathering

to battle the Dragon of misery and woe.

I smell the incense from God's altar rising.

I feel the organization of Love's forces.

I know, beyond these senses mystical but inept,

this world is destined for a chastisement,

more severe than ever before or ever will again

rock this land given over to glorifying sin.

And thus, while the faithless cower like rats

in alleys and sewers, the fearless form combat

battalions, legions to crush the insipid foe

of all who love -- gentle hearts in silence composed.

"Pray, pray a great deal." as Fátima revealed

to all the earth. Pray and in awe be sealed.

Trust not any words spoke not from dear God.

Listen in deep peace and respond to avoid His rod.

Man's offenses, too many to number or imagine,

crucify the Church and drive cold swords in

to Mary's Heart, already crowned with her Son's

in the Blood of Holy Communion eternally won.

'Neath your mighty weapon of Truth, strong Saint Michael,

lies a stronghold of children who never will

give up, no matter how arid the desert becomes.

With these little souls, press on. Let God's will be done.

II

I hear another coming, alike no one before;

the Antichrist of Satan, with his demonic horde,

hell-bent to slaughter children and rob God of their souls.

He's mounting his rebellion towards Armageddon.

Coldly

shall the blistering winds of disenchantment blow,

causing death in city streets and countryside homes,

as the murderer of Christ toils incessantly now

that the countdown to oblivion has finally begun.

Heed well this tempered warning, children of Love.

Hold fast to God's eternal vision, kept as doves

e'er close to His bosom, sing songs of morning.

Good shall conquer evil soon. Be ready. Seek morning.

Invisible to dull senses but always surrounding,

instructing, Raphael, teach me what I should see.

What lies hidden to my mind, loving not the world

nor all its vanities, passing, futile and absurd?

Mystically communicate, illuminate

the meaning of each moment, the war and peace

of all my whiles spent fighting to maintain virtue

amid the clamor of incredulous eyes and cold souls.

I wear a crown of thorns. Internally, I bleed

incessantly from the bottomless wound of human need,

ne'er entertained by passions fleeting and material gain.

Rejected by self-deceivers, I inherit their pain.

Agonizing in a garden alike Gethsemane,

consumed by crimes committed against the Almighty

and All-Merciful Lord of everything hidden and known,

days are like centuries. In grief am I grown.

Show me, dear Guardian Angel, how to move,

how to maintain nobility beneath this reproof,

this penance I accept in abandonment and trust

to God's Wisdom divine and Kindness most just.

Come swiftly, my friend and counselor. Come bind

my hopes to Mother Mary's Heart, so sublime,

so close to the Trinity, All-Blessed and All-True.

Come, mighty Raphael. Please show me what to do.

Thank you for sparing me, Mother,

from the loss of Love, though others

not as fortunate, or longing to be so,

set their sights on ignorance to hope.

Not that I merit special graces;

you know how wicked I have been.

Yet, immeshed in your silent embraces,

I gain the strength to brave discontent.

Thank you, Mother, for sparing me

and letting me lead some to share your peace

by example, though imperfect, still poised

to endure quietly the anger and noise

reminiscent of unruly children,

undisciplined in refined attitudes.

While most prefer violence to friendship,

you enchant me with thoughts in tune

with your own, most perfectly reflecting

the Holy Trinity. How great resurrecting!

How wondrous your blessings, Mother!

Thank you for loving me as my Brother.

So many lost souls in need of relief

dress alike, talk alike, walk alike home,

finding in compromise reason to believe.

What insanity imprisons man's soul

to seek earthen treasure like blind goats

tempting a precipice's narrow ledge?

How dangerous the masses near the edge?

What can a man do to overcome

the gospel of man but turn to Love,

surrender his attitude to God's song,

His Words most holy and the Spirit Dove?

What can a woman do to belong

to the majestic hereafter on earth

but turn to Love's immaculate throngs

of loyal souls, and be guided as birds

set free to soar the mystic winds of space

unbound by time and death's ignoble threat

to possess all. Unafraid, keep pace

in servitude to God in every breath.

Warp Holy

What example do you follow? Who do you believe?

The glamour of Hollywood or poor folk on their knees?

Who is your ageless prophet? Jesus or modern man?

The One Who gave His life for yours or the bride of Satan?

Where is your heart set? On this world or the next?

Are you mending your ways or do you easily forget?

When do you plan to begin listening to the truth?

Do you know when you'll die? Do you have enough proof?

Why don't you exercise your infinite faculties

instead of succumbing to the world? Be at peace.

Freedom in discipline, happiness in sorrow.

Choose wisely, little ones. Make ready for tomorrow.

Questing Still

Who forgives? Christ or man, or both?

When heartless we grow, who brings hope?

Hot tears of rejected love trail Jesus

and all His disciples, so few believe us

when we speak of love unending and peace.

Yet the pain of Christ's followers does ease

the agony of His Sacred Heart that grieves

each heinous crime of men more pleased

with themselves than their divine Lover.

The humble pray for strength. While others

rely on ego, they confess their infirmities.

Forgiveness flows from the Holy Trinity.

And to the foes of Truth what do we owe

but understanding, prayer and infinite hope,

the bounteous blessing Jesus promised on earth

to all who believe and heed His Holy Word.

For love we offer the Precious Blood of Christ,

born of the Virgin, Mother of all in strife,

trusting the Lord of Mercy to reconcile

believer and nonbeliever. In Him we, while

pining the Beatific Vision, repent ruefully.

The faithless can't forgive. God does all deeds.

our souls are quieted in flames.

Sometimes, like starlings from new nests rising,

we still in the warmth of our Mother's wings.

Sometimes our dull senses we escape;

with angelic choirs we elate.

Sometimes, as always in the Kingdom beyond

this vale of toil, we exist on loving Love.

Why do people avoid the truth?

Isn't Christ crucified sufficient proof?

What more could He do?

Die everyday to set sinners loose?

Why do people avoid the truth?

What makes people lie and hide?

Why let evil be a guide?

Why fear the love in Jesus' eyes?

So futile this path, so petrified.

Isn't Christ's Cross a noble enough sign?

Mary, Mary, my protectress

and my Mother, true

to the virtues of the Church,

teach me servitude.

Holy, Holy saints and angels

round my heart renewed

in the Spirit of thy Son's

holy solitude.

Holy Mary, guide me gently

down the avenues

of angelic wisdom toward

the land of certitude.

How tender the starling

dancing with night shadows,

swirling through windblown trees,

glistening branches,

fallen leaves.

How sensitive he seems,

flowing like a droplet of air

blown from God's hand

across the full moon's

warming rays.

Oh, mellifluous and small heart,

bending towards the silence

created by nature's light,

how rare your peace

and beauty.

How blesséd this moment

unending and ever constant,

alike your cherubic song

dearer than dawn,

sunlight, dew.

How generous God's summons

to recognize Him in creation,

the starling's flight toward morn

mid golden woods

of August.

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