I

How do we love? By dying to life,

for love lives beyond this exile and strife,

for love lives forever in spirit and truth.

These notes, young and green, and living proof,

testify to this knowledge,

this imminent fact.

We love in our faith.

That's all there is to that.

II

And what of this credence?

From whence does it come?

From whimsical visions? From others? From whom?

From He Who hast dignified our mortality

by dying, that our souls might know this peace.

From Jesus, our Savior and center of hearts.

Ah, yes. If you love, 'tis His gift, His art,

His blessing upon you in misery,

His halo of light, His eternity.

The Way is the Truth is the Life, don't you see?

In Communion with our Maker, we all are set free.

III

And what of our Maker? Who is He?

Why did He die to redeem me?

Your Maker is Love.

Your Maker is He Who's risen above mortality,

Who always was and always will be.

Your Maker is the Maker of all you see,

of every child, of every day,

of every breath you'll ever take.

He brings all to life and takes all away.

Your Maker lets you listen to what I say.

Your Maker made the angels, invisible to eyes,

manifest to souls that never die.

Your Maker is the Source, as deep as you'll get

in searching for Truth. On that you can bet.

So question not dear innocent being.

Believe and accept. In this song, live singing...

Oppositions

Fear kills. Fear controls.

Violence erupts where fear grows.

No one's heart can handle fear alone.

No one holds this candle without getting burned.

False light. Intolerable sight.

Troubled is the soul that won't learn.

Stress and strain, unending pain

is the price of fear. Fear is insane.

Love warms. Love comforts.

Beauty abounds where love flows.

Everyone belongs in this hold.

All holding love's light forever learn

true might, confidence, insight.

Happy is the soul that breathes hope.

Peace and quiet, eternal silence

is the path of love. Love lives aflame.

My Confidante

Softer than cotton my confidante's eyes,

softer than cotton on the wind of time,

flowing like a river of femininity

amid the graceful pageant of a woman at peace.

Softer than summer-filled swirls of wheat,

the image of my lady in her tranquillity,

gliding cross my visage towards the town

of Bethlehem. Oh, Virgin Mother of God.

How is it your impression guides my hand

in this sublime expression of God's plan?

How is it that you touch my mind and thought

without a word at all? In you I am taught.

Softer than the promise of God's light,

you bring forth from me miraculous sights

sprinkled with affection and loving care.

How wonderful your presence! How fresh and fair!

There's only one song the angels raise,

only one melody always the same,

for Almighty God can never change.

Holy, Holy, Holy Lord is His Name.

There's only one truth the saints proclaim,

only one path through this vale of pain,

won with the Blood of He Who came.

Holy, Holy, Holy Lord is His Name.

There's only one life mid this insane

planet of sin that dares to deign

error as right. Beware they who feign.

Holy, Holy, Holy Lord is His Name.

There's only one faith that will not wane,

the martyrs died for beyond the games

men and women play to ignore what's tame.

Holy, Holy, Holy Lord is His Name.

There's only one rock that will remain

after the proud fall prey to their brains,

impressed with themselves not Love's refrain.

Holy, Holy, Holy Lord is His Name.

There's only one trust through which souls gain

comfort and strength to sail the main

of passion and sense. So simple. So plain.

Holy, Holy, Holy Lord is His Name.

There's only one doorway, only one lane,

only one passage, one seat on the plane

home to the kingdom of Love free from pain.

Holy, Holy, Holy Lord is His Name.

Love is a hurt.

Love is a blind man's cane

reaching out to feel what lies ahead

sending back sensations unto the dead.

Love is a hurt.

Love is an obligation

to reach out and touch another's hand,

and be touched as well. It's God's plan.

Love is a hurt.

Love must ache to be true,

for feelings to develop must expose

themselves to stimuli or else grow cold.

Love is a hurt.

Love is a torrential rain

of suffering that never ceases

for the faithful in this world... so peaceless.

Love is a hurt.

Love is a purposeful cross,

as all else is worthless to God.

Acceptance brings still deeper love.

Love is a hurt.

Love is a merciful blessing,

an opportunity to walk with Light.

Love is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

Love is a hurt.

Love is a hunger for more

than you can ever hope to obtain.

Love is the songbird alone in the rain.

Beatific Vision

Oh, how beautiful Heaven must be!

Home of the Blessed Virgin Mary,

our Mother of Love's Heart, ever bringing

the Trinity's graces through angels singing,

"Hosanna in the highest." How privileged we

to gaze on the innocence of sinless beauty.

Oh, how wonderful to bask in glee,

to share with loving souls eternity,

all the while filled with pure light, clinging

ray-to-ray to each other, unified, winging,

forevermore dauntless, forevermore free,

rejoicing in the Sanctus' mystic harmony.

Oh, how fortunate the gentle sheep,

the chaste who a life-long vigil keep,

dreaming of their release from the wringing

of cold, hard hearts incapable of singing

"Hosanna." and meaning it. How happy we,

who wait in virtue the hope of our belief.

Oh, how beautiful Heaven must be!

Home for all Life with Jesus and Mary.

Proper Thanks

How may we thank you, Inimitable Lord,

save to dwell in the Truth of Your All-Holy Word?

Alone man is incapable of naught but sin,

to be honest on his own lies not within him.

Born into You is the only way to be

blessed with conviction. Through Lady Poverty

we empty ourselves of our iniquity,

proceeding Christward to overcome need.

The gratitude you merit is Your Son's.

Only He can be called the Most Holy One.

United in Body and Blood to His Gift,

His hallowed Sacrament, we thank, praise, live.

How may we thank you, Beneficent Lord,

save to dwell in the Truth of Your All-Holy Word?

May mankind respond to Your counsel and share

Your Heart's beauteous Wisdom and infinite care.

King of Poets

Jesus was a poet of the highest, noblest mind,

Maker of all poets, King of the sublime.

So intense were His perceptions, so Divine,

His life is God's love expressed in one word -- Sacrifice.

And that's why men reject Him, why they find

His example detestable, His Way unkind.

So intent are His weak creatures on staying blind,

unable to love bruised features, they live unenlightened.

Lest God's children awaken to the power of light

and overcome the deceits of the Prince of Night

incensing the ignorant to ignore God's might,

not dying to themselves, they'll die of snake bites.

Jesus is the hope of every hungry heart that tries

to find the inner beauty veiled behind every eye.

So immense His perception, so unclimbed.

How wonderful to spend death in His eyes trying.

Be kind, my Lord, to those who oft accuse

Your gifts of love as foolish or untrue.

They lack the brilliant eyes of hearts afire

with love, and so (if at all), feebly aspire

the brilliant kingdom of Your inner light.

Be kind, oh Holy Spirit. They're without sight.

Show mercy, Lord, when they attack Your Word.

Though many think to die to life absurd,

You know they fail to comprehend the worth

of Passion and Cross, Your noblest birth

unto a virgin maid of lowly estate,

or why You hide the humble in Your Face.

Be gentle, Father, when they reach Your Throne.

You know full-well the terror of time alone,

when, in the Garden, You wept through Your Son's

agony of agonies, revealing You both are One

in Spirit. Oh, Most High God, how deep the grief

You shared in silence with Jesus at Your feet?

Be compassionate as well to all who weep and mourn.

Remember into our weakness the King of Love was born.

Harlot Eyes

What ugliness infests the sinful soul?

Putrid attitudes pollute their thoughts and words

(With God's grace alone can they escape this hole.),

charred remains from crimes never let go,

never confessed, and so, they yet uglier do grow.

So fiendish in their hatred for the good!

They'll try to share their misery rather than

seek glimmering rays from morning's angel and

the suredness of truth. They roam dark woods

in search of similar sorts or young to seduce.

The harlot of the Apocalypse rapes the world.

Caring only for flesh and false security,

she dares not attempt another point of view.

Heaven forbid, she might wake up renewed.

In aimless pursuits, she divides, cowers and dies.

What wickedness leers from such wasteful eyes?

Devoid of wisdom, doomed to lust the erotic,

their smile is contemptable. They patronize

the lame as well the strong behind wide smiles

that long the death of God. Oh, how they lie.

What unholiness possesses barren kin?

Unlike beloved Jospeh sold by his brothers,

they are the merchants, bidding all to come in

and sample their wares disguised in silk and satin,

knowing well a taste of honey can do you in.

What murderous thoughts lurk in evil souls!

Respect for life is something they abhor.

"To Hell with all. The more that fall the merrier."

They never rest, the tempestuously driven horde,

from soul to soul devouring faith like a whore.

Unenviable corpses with scorpion tails,

the scourge of scorned women who hate all males.

Do This In Remembrance

Man has forgotten that beneath this steeple

lives the Savior of all God's chosen people,

the One Heart that listens when all seems lost,

One with the Father and Holy Ghost.

For shame! Man's respect has lost its memory

of the crucified Jesus, who died on Calvary

and suffered rejection, the whip and the nail,

that our sins not cause us to totally fail.

How many among men would dare bear the Cross,

could endure without complaint, but rather with love

the full force of Hell's fiery possessed demons,

unleashed to destroy innocence through reason?

How many comprehend the depth of these Wounds

that will bleed for all time and beyond the tomb,

that pour forth incessantly the sweetest perfume

everywhere they are honored, worshipped and adored?

How many feel the awesomeness within His Presence?

How many tremble as the saints in their reverence?

How many remember the last time they confessed

they'd rather go to Heaven than face eternal Death?

And not because the fires they do not deserve,

but truthfully, saddened they lost their nerve

to cry out to the Lord for strength to overcome,

confessed they agonized for driving deep the Crown.

How many have ever wept for Jesus' Agony,

have listened to Him pray for them in Gethsemane,

have bathed His pierced flesh in rueful tears,

have offered Him blind trust, not only timid fear?

How many have felt the steel in our flesh, driven

through our Savior's soul? How many have proven

their love by being thankful, obedient and true

unto death itself? Martyrs only bear these wounds.

Holy souls who would not listen to lies and worship

idols, the world or Satan's deceptive courtship

alone have confessed sorrow, gratitude and love,

for any less committment is not love at all.

Man has forgotten that beneath this steeple,

lives the Christ Child, Who came to save his people

not from toil, or sweat or constant sacrifice,

but from the jaws of Death in sin reconciled.

The Sacred Hearts

And the two united in blood and soul

bore each other's sorrows as their own,

nursed each's wounds within their breasts

molded in suffering, overcame death,

carried the cross of time together;

sweet Jesus and Mary, one Heart forever.

And the love they married in Spirit and Truth

widened their understanding, confidence, youth,

as pulsing in rich unison their pure veins flowed

like deep rivers of light by angels composed,

by airy beings filled with stars of hope,

faith and affection from Paradise's hold.

And the song they sang was a symphony

accompanied by blithe saints in harmony

with all God's Creation. And everything

greeted with their joy instantly did sing

through the source of life's divine inspiration,

"May all desire God's true revelations."

And the prayers of every person ever to be

they offered the Father, so His Grace might free

strong messengers of health and endless peace.

So blessed were these children, so quiet, so serene,

kept holy in humility, acts of care and pain

accepted as the Cross... one love uncontained.

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