On The Wind

You see, I resign myself to my resigning
Not from discontent
For long and well have I loved this world
Each day it doth increase in beauty
And care
In aspects of love ne’er has it been more abundant
You see, I see
That from which all life springeth
I am rapt
And only a fool would not follow such sirens call
My Lord, a temptress?
Seems sure
But none so pure
My eyes are fixed
You, who hear, fear nothing
Nor romance my demise
I leave not in a trail of blood making
But dissolve myself fully
Herein, if thou smells sweet fragrance in the air
‘Tis but my love on the wind

Author

Pen poised
As though its scribbling
Shall offer notes prophetic
To writer and reader
Both are me
Hoping this pen shall grow lips and speak
Secretly my ears do long for filling
Speak pen
Raspy voice or dulcet laden
Speak
For art, I care not

Is there but one thing thou shalt jot
To prove worth my reading?
What substance canst thou provide
To weight this airborne nothing?
Of course there is none
Not one stroke can improve me

Yet
I perceive my lacking
A phantom dog doth chase his tail
With hopes the catching shall prove him real
Yet, even in his catching the substance is naught
Double foiled
Double fooled
My only resolve is Oneness

Thirsty Pilgrim

Stop asking "Why?"
There is no answer that will quench thy thirst of it
The more thou sips of why
The more parched thy throat
Instead
When Life's decanter is passed
Drink of "Yes!" and "Thank you."
No matter how bitter the taste
And thou shalt ever be sated

The Walnut

How long have I acted the walnut
Ever trying to shield me from Thy picking?
Thinking my resistance some integrity to Thy pressures
How long have I held fearful of my virtues stealing
When all the while the thief was locked inside?

Praise to Thee, that Thou hast cracked me open
Thy works have never been what nut conceived
Sure, Thou art no villain wanting vengeance
But sweet bondsman who hath freed me of my cell
Now I feel my yearning spirit blossom
Now, at last, my roots have grasped the soil

A Flute, My Lord

I laugh, my lord
That Thou hast chosen me for a flute
For my tune hath e'er been harsh
Certain 'tis, Thou hast not jangled sweet tunes
From a lesser instrument than I
Very well
Play me like nature's greenery
Who hiss and sway at Thy blowing
Play Thou Virtuoso
Play what notes Thou wilt
For I am no skilled musician
Though ever Thine to play
Play
I am just now made empty
And long to hear what sounds I make
When Sacred Breath in me doth blow

Fire!

Set me afire, Oh Lord!
That Thou may'st burn my conscience clean
Hold back not
For I yearn for such purity
Drunken author
I have writ such false story
Throw it in the fires
Let no one touch their seeming verities
For I have but wandered
Filling my coffin with the rubbish of me
Fire!
Let each little collectible blaze me to freedom
For long as I treasure them o'er Thee
Oh, what hapless wretch I be
Fire!

Wayward Pilgrim

How is't, My Lord
I cannot bare Thy pleasures?
Why is't I turn so quickly from Thy bliss?
Abandoning all "excruciating" oneness
I rush to fathoms dark and streets unclean
Is there one thing that can curb this wayward pilgrim
Who stays not home when all the world's obscene?

Drunkard

I have given up drink
But I am drunk on Thee
Each sip doth send me flying
One taste of Love doth deliver me
Heaven bound
Uprooted, the tree sprouts wings
And the birds do watch in envy

Choice

What is sin?
But to live separate from Thee, My Love
What is Hell?
But to prefer to rule o'er a dung heap
Than to serve in the Garden of Eden

The Sickness of Desire

Seeking sweet delight in my dainty disturbances
My petite perturbations wring and wretch
I, sucking sweet nausea from dysfunction's marrow
Heave and wretch and suck some more
Justifying my normalcy
Comparing me to piteous mankind
I, a horror beyond, but reconciled above
Oh, masterful transformist, I
Illusion-maker
How easily thou dost make the false one true
Why do I feast on the thing that poisons me?
No reason will suffice
But raging I fight to better me
And reserve this right to further defiances
But when glutted I be with the sickness of desire
Wounded, I turn
And in pity, I yield
Then
When I do make myself nothing
When I dethrone and disrobe this carnal kingdom
When I quiet my railing commands
Then, gently Thou dost blow away manufactured me
My dust Thou carries on Great Winds
And the Heavens do celebrate my reunion
I reach The Immeasurable
Infinity doth tickle my soles
And Eternity lays a willing woman before me
For I have done naught
Save explode my being in Thee