Tell your poem

Stand on the pulpit that is the earth,
Take off your clothes of shame;
Do not be afraid to step on the dust
For it shall be your resting place.

Look at the weeds teeming with life,
No one has watered nor cared for;
Learn and persevere like them, who
Patiently waits for the sun and rain.

Ponder on the beauty of a flower,
Reflect upon its silence and grandeur;
Do not hasten the changing seasons
All will start to wither after springtime.

Seek for the beginning of everything–
The garden of paradise ruined by the fall;
Then try to look for the tree of life
And there, you tell your poem.

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sober whining

An intoxicating mix of happy and glum
looking for that silver lining…
I, pine for the moon and the sun!,
but eyes veering toward the deadening

These pavements lead me nowhere,
take me back to the dirty old road..
where the green grasses are realer
and our wretched souls aren’t sold

Half asleep in an apocalyptic malady
the trouble with the waking, my dear
is that dreams are a better rhapsody
than the awaiting realities here

Now the whines are out laden,
let the spirits be quenched;
break must hearts to be open,
and face life again with fists clenched

 

Silhouettes of the sky

IMG_20170701_182736We’re not perfect, you and i…
All but silhouettes of the same sky
But we can reach for the light
If we don’t give up and hold tight

No path is easy, my brother
Pain is the only way of surrender
Broken, the more we let the ray in
I can even hear God himself prayin’

Forgiveness for clouding the sun
And apology for trying to run
When all the sky wants to offer
Are treasures in royal coffer

The day we meet the bridegroom
Is the time for our colors to bloom
No matter how dark you are today
Look up and bathe in a little ray!

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The Broken Man

In departed days there wanders
A man with philosophy
That life and truth, to us caters
Wealth–abundant as the sea

Riches far more precious than gold
Brought men overwhelming awe
This gem amidst, so they were told
Was the rock that Peter saw

Wrought in misery, this wise man–
The man that held the baggage
Of truth ’twas proclaimed yet anon
The herald was the message

But men whose eyes were blinded shut
With the walls of unbelief
Their lives dulled to importunity begot
Impaled with dire mournful grief

These foolish men ended such man
His mortal life was taken
So there wept righteous souls of some
For a sage prize they’ve broken

But when the just came to his tomb
Found only cloth and linen
Not knowing their beloved–
The broken man had risen!

* * *