I stumbled across this buried treasure
Learned the secrets from a book
Extraordinary insight to the lowly and great
How others learned the secret, I do not know
Life must be lived in the will, not emotions
At birth the gift of freedom of will
The central citadel of man’s being
He stands knocking on the door of the human heart
But the latch of the door is on the inside
This is the entering-in
Barstools, beers and lonely cheers
Sideways glances, sound and fears
Top of the loft, corner of the street
Just dropping off, by chance again we meet
Perched high above on a leather bus seat
Looking down on you as sun and horizon meet
Living through pictures on your wall
Passing on paper cranes, love and all
Resonating strings and sings around
Searching for words unspoken sound
Fathom feeling depths unknown
Silence falls like shell shock tone
Rivers of lyrical, satirical rhymes
Flood down the mount of eternal time
A single vase of living water, blooms
Tapped from the source in our living rooms
Ashes in lashes,
Dust becomes rust
Enter this Temple,
in You I trust
.
Three stones at the altar
Five moors to the creek
Seven days for hunting
Nine chains that peak
Ironclad crosses
the blood that seeps,
red through this armour,
wounds what weeps…
Enter this Temple,
enter it full,
From the grove, the forest —
my Lord, my Rule
(C) Christine Ueri
It is not a situation where
what you emanate
reaches me unchanged,
to reflect what you radiate.
It is the essence of my being
to take in and absorb
the streams of mercy
that flow out from your source;
feed me and make me whole,
make me grow beyond my limits –
strong, broad, I tower over all.
You give your all to me,
I soak up your energy
preoccupied with you
Until the fall..
I hope…
keep yourself from feeling
resentment at my leaving you
here, my dearest.
It is joyous to depart,
do not let sadness taint
the inevitable start
to a “new” day.
Do not hold it against Him,
let comfort cover you
and soften the impact
you feel after free-fall.
It will save you, bruised not broken.
I am nothing but
a haunted house
occupied by a Ghost
that keeps all others out.
I fear it not, for it dispels all fears
– the hate and the fight –
it lets in the light through darkened shutters,
breaks down inhabitable disguise.
I stare into your face
no mask, of self – a trace,
an empty broken shell
awaiting to be whole
and filled with life anew.
No cold, hard, barren ground,
broken fossils incomplete
no slowly sinking mound
weathered turf, carved concrete,
chiselled words standing proud.
Within one heart rests humanity, whole –
my only other hope is you are there
once you too, are grown and old.
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Image source
“Have we not all, amid life’s petty strife,
Some pure ideal of a noble life
That once seemed possible? Did we not hear
The flutter of its wings and feel it near,
And just within our reach? It was. And yet
We lost it in this daily jar and fret,
And now live idle in vain regret;
But still our place is kept, and it will wait,
Ready for us to fill it, soon or late.
No star is ever lost we once have seen,
We always may be what we might have been.
Since good, tho’ only thought, has life and breath,
God’s life – can always be redeemed from death;
And evil, in its nature, is decay,
And any hour can blot it all away;
The hopes that, lost, in some far distance seem,
May be the truer life, and this the dream.”
– The Ghost in the Picture Room by Adelaide Anne Proctor, in “The Haunted House” by Charles Dickens.
You fit me
Like an old shoe
Been resoled, shined
Renewed
Who is wearing who?
Strung out to dry
Hopes are high.
Our position does not give purpose
Just our faith.
Ours is a Kingdom which cannot be shaken.
All I receive
these days
is junk mail.
Now I no longer
have the need
will you wear
my shoes?
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Image (C) Carlos Barria /Reuters
An infinite dome of sky was expanded above us
an ocean of firmament of which the dwellers among
houses and mountains can have but little conception.
The troops of glittering stars,
the dark, the shrouding night,
the unaccustomed voices of my companions,
deepened the awe that oppressed me, and,
as I stood between them, I became as earnest
and occupied as themselves.
I forgot everything but the incomprehensible grandeur
of the universe revealed to me,
and the majestic sweep of planets
across the field of the telescope.
What a freshness of awe and delight came over me!
What floods of thought came,
wave upon wave, across my mind!
And how insignificant I felt
before this wilderness of worlds!
- Hesba Stretton – The Ghosts in the Clock Room in Charles Dickens’ tale ‘The Haunted House’.
————————————–Photo by Greg Rakozy
Count the stars of heaven 