The Gift of Shame

How precious, then, that I have been shamed
That bitter failures have passed by my face
That I have fallen short is a blessing unnamed
For inadequate hearts are touched by your grace.

In you I am perfect
What an astounding thought!
That this broken body, useless and decrepit,
Would be healed as your words have taught.


At Home

The deepest eyes I’ve ever seen,
From the lightest gaze I’ve ever known.
I lose me through jade galaxies,
To call this us my own.

The stars within you cry aching tunes
They dance harmony I never knew
I wonder what I could possibly do
To communicate my love for you

Your heartbeat throbs in calming whispers
Like an endless train on midnight track
It resonates as metal shivers
While lights shimmer in voids of black.

So if it fades from memory,
The completeness we know
Just go back to the song-filled water
Gaze upon the gauzy black
Of skies with lights that echo our path
And listen to the rumbling of the sonorous midnight track.

“Peace, dear one; I will always come back
To you.”

The Bruised Night

There is something profound about the night
Something in the beaten air that breathes
It despairs those in love to be enslaved to time
The close cousin of distance, indeed.

There is something about the ink of the dark morning hours
Something that stirs each pen to write
Perhaps exhaustion is what writers devour
With their scrawling words that sink and bite.

There is some sort of reserved energy
In the cold waking hours of early morning
That only the right can assess;

In the cold morning hours, when dawn is hesitant
To interrupt lovers’ ballads in progress;

The sun yawns resolutely
Its splendors shiver truly
Timid rays growing strong and intense;

And the world must then return
To its slow, average turn
And await the creative night

Once again.