To whom much is given
shall much be required
and how cheaply we have held
the blood, the cup of wine
becoming ourselves
whitened sepulchres
marauders for gain
trading only one side of the coin.
Words from the Jagged Edge of Truth
To whom much is given
shall much be required
and how cheaply we have held
the blood, the cup of wine
becoming ourselves
whitened sepulchres
marauders for gain
trading only one side of the coin.
On the other hand
they say the kingdom
is flourishing where
it should not flourish
and the righteous highway
drives a thin shaft of light
straight through the dark heart.
About now comes the thought
that the time has passed,
the voice for the birthright
unable to profoundly articulate
what is being lost in the unfolding
of these times.
leaving now
for that other coast
down the sideroads she makes her own way
the rain is pounding
beating like her heart
hard against time
last brush stroke
sweeps flamboyantly
she splashes colour on the canvas
shadows steal darkly
across the deep bay
silent and grey
crossing over
all things in order
her masterpieces she leaves behind
the sun going down
is fire orange
forget her not
crossing over
all things in order
her masterpieces she leaves behind
the sun going down
is fire orange
forget her not
A simple kiss, a sweet embrace,
a letter written, a moment taken,
each one a fitted stone that builds
the house at the end of the years,
down that dirt track only the hobo knows,
joy is to be found there, someone
is casting seeds on the ground there.
Everyone you meet is someone
and every heart you greet kindly
returns alms for your travels
and fixes road markers that
maybe you return to
or maybe not, but no matter,
they stand as a reminder
that this is the way you passed.
Light a fire
Invite the wonder
And marvel at all that is made;
if ever there was nothing before
nothing shall ever be again
she wears her hair in a single braid.