poesy.

I can remember floating in the cold waters of Australia,
On my back, shaking with laughter
(But not too hard, or the water would go up my nose).
There, at that particular time, in that particular space,
In that wonderfully blue, shining place;
I looked up at the sky
And experienced being perfectly happy—
If only for a brief amount of time.
And I found that it’s true:
Any amount of pain, hurt, or depression
Can be made worth the while by experiencing
Just one second of pure, uninterrupted perfection.

I once heard it said,
And I think of it often,
That the soul of man cannot remember infinitude
But can only remember that it has forgotten
Something.
Thus do the poets languish and the prophets moan
For the memory of a desire that they once used to know
But now—cannot remember!
When physical beauty breaks its way into our soul,
Our hearts cannot help but ache and cause us pain
From the unspoken knowledge that what once used to be whole
Has been severed, even violently cloven in twain.

But we catch glimpses, some say,
When we crawl into bed at the end of our day;
When our unseeing eyes finally close,
When we prostrate ourselves and take our repose
And we dream of those things which cannot be seen
When we open our eyes upon waking.

But there, in the water, as I floated in the sun,
Laughing at how far fear felt from me,
For a moment the pain of beauty was gone;
In a brief vision I remembered that long-forgotten song,
And its beauty was made greater by its mystery.

And so, later that day,
After the sun had spent its light and set,
You and I walked in the cool grass again,
Barefoot in the back yard,
And smoked a single clove cigarette
And talked of miracles, and dreams,
And how the human heart has such a need to be redeemed.
Brothers by more than mere blood, flesh or bone,
But brothers in truth and united in spirit
Who share the same Father,
And have the same Home.
When we finally cross over that cold river
And we meet again on that beautiful shore
Perhaps we will recognize the hills of that high country
And going Home will also be a coming Home once more.

Every once in a while,
Every few months, maybe, when the moon is full bright,
I recognize the same sneaking sensation
That creeps up as quietly as the coming of night,
And I get to feeling The Fear.
This numinous dread
Weighing down, hanging just over head,
Like Damocles’ sword ever dangling.
But it comes and it goes
And will pass soon, I know,
And I’ll forget that it ever existed.
Until the next time
(Perhaps when I’m driving, or standing in line)
When it comes from behind, grinning,
And slips its thin arm round mine,
And I get to feeling The Fear.

God protect me while I sleep,
While I slumber, dreaming deep;
Let all my thoughts be good and true
And if I dream, but dream of You.

How softly correction steps,
Bare footed in the cool and springy turf! How often
Have I brushed shoulders with men far better than I
And never realized that power had gone forth?
People trickle in and out of and past my life, like so many
Rivulets of water flowing in a rainstorm; only a precious few
Do I ever really see. I saw one
Stepping feebly down the concrete stairs with shufflings
More hesitant than a child’s first strides. He was awkward,
Bloated and pimpled, and his face lacked that particular light
By which we recognize the glow of the intellect. Yet how soft
His eyes looked! What life shone through those vacant windows!
Excitement and gleeful joy rippled through his being, unincumbered
By the trappings of self consciousness.
My eyes were fixed on him as though I was bound in a trance;
His disfigured body coupled with a stillborn mind produced not revulsion in me,
Nor even a condescending pity! But I tasted the bitter sting of shame
Rising up in the back of my throat. For days after that
I saw him in my mind, awkwardly step-hopping down the stairs in excitement;
My spirit turned crimson, and would avert its eyes to divert its shame,
Trying to avoid the envy and the knowledge
That I am the most thankless man to ever walk the face of this earth.
My strides are long and measured, confident and smooth,
Yet I fall to the ground, crippled, in the presence this child.

Come down with me now, and let us imagine together
Whether other wondrous worlds can be imagined with the pleasure
That this place brings, that all this sorrow seems.
Let us paint a picture, let us see a place
That we recognized once in a dream, or a passing stranger’s face.
Where that narrow trail winds up along the slope,
Past cataracts and caverns filled with gold;
Where everything is familiar, and every story told.

Down roads we’ve never walked before, yet know the ways they weave,
Past trees we’ve never seen before, yet recognize their leaves.
Let us rest awhile, beside this sparkling lake,
And take refreshment under the old oak tree.
For the sky is so blue, from here
And the lapping lake soothes my eager ears.

Ah, I know. You think me passing strange
And wonder where I seek to take you,
And why I drag you down the page.
Why journey we through the foggy land of dreams and sleeping?
Such things are meant for children’s fairy tales!
We know better! (though our cheeks are pale
And we sometimes wake up weeping).

For all the ways which Truth is strange to me,
The greatest of the greatest mysteries:
Work out your own salvation, carefully,
For it is God who works his will in thee.