Thursday, June 19, 2014

love-affairs on the sea

Sometimes, I just want to
crawl into my priest hole
where I'll find a bit of quiet
hidden in the muddy Reformation's
violent chaos.
There, I will read without
which is, of course,
a bibliophile's dream.

But books are contrary
entities, who wrap you in
a world that only one can
enter into at a time.
But books are inherently
vehicles of worlds
that must be shared.

The first thought of God
was a Word.
A word that could bridge
the impossible divide
between eternity and time
between creation and nothing
between power and weakness.

I stood in the rain,
because when you're crying,
sometimes it's nice to know that the
world can cry, too.
That even clouds are sometimes
stretched to a breaking point.

The clouds are afforded the luxury
of dumping out their misery on
any human underneath their sway.
They make the sky roar with thunder,
and crack the atmosphere with lightning.
Since we cannot do the same,
we look to nature to wreak the havoc
on the earth which
our emotions birth inside our hearts.

My red umbrella swayed in front of
the periwinkle sky.
A sky whose colors were bleeding
into the rainy treetops,
drowned in an evening dew.
Tears welled up in my eyes,
like the water puddling on
sidewalks at my feet.

The sounds of sobbing
were stifled in my throat,
and instead of making sounds,
they produced a hard lump,
a bolus of unchewed emotion
caught in my esophagus.

My phone, impossibly
broken, lay lamely
in my pocket.
Ruined by too many tears.

The first thought of man
was wordless.
Until, the word took flesh
inside his thoughts,
creating Thought itself--
a Thought made of Word.
Word that could be spoken,
thought that could now
be shared.

And in the periwinkle tree-tops,
under the golden sunset
sparkling behind the stormy sky,
the birds still sing.
The robins and the cardinals
trill their tender tune of hope,
as the plump raindrops
hit the ground
beneath the feet of
rambling sinners,
wandering in search of
saints hidden in rainstorms.

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