Sanctus

He was wounded by our transgressions and crushed for our inequities; by His wounds were we healed.

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Those that live by the sword

Die by the sword

 

In these hands I hold

The dove

Of human kind-ness

 

I kiss her

Behind the ear

And whisper

Sweet nothing

In her ear

 

Now bearing the infinite

I set her free

 

To seek

 And

 …….. to find

 

In the whip and the nail

Of my Passion

And the silence

That would not

To speak

 

For to sully

The silence

With the earth bound

Sound

 

Of words

 Touches not

 

And they know not

What they do

 

For the spoke

Of it

Unwinds

 

And to Caesar

Must I go….

 

For the hands

Of it are washed

 

Yet the clean

Is yet to seen

 

Sanctus

 Sanctus

 Dominus

 

Into your hands

I commend my spirit

 

And so with it

As you will

 

For your will

And NOT

Mine

Be done

This day

 

THAT which

Comes from

Above

Now

 

Now be done

 And I will

 I will

 Bring

 The sword

 

Of MY truth

To bear

 

For my arm

Is rested

 And

 Now ready

 

In the darkest

Tomb

I have wandered

 

And now found

 It

 It

 Begins

A Dreamer’s Miscellany

Trying to capture a little of “The Unbearable Lightness of Being” written about by Kundera

Nesnesitelná lehkost bytí

 

Ridges and swirls,

Curling and whirling

And softly

Pressed.

 

Into the hot,

Hot

Red wax of life.

 

Now the clumsy nimble

Thimble

Of thumbs.

 

Closing the flap

Of the present’s

Present.

 

With the heart’s

Ghostly

Watermark.

 

In the springtime

Trees

That envelop the wood.

 

And now clothe

Those millstream

Blades.

 

And gurgle

The nursery

Daffodil’s rhyme.

 

That finger’s

First

Walk into the glade.

 

On snowdrop’s

Tippy toe

Truths.

 

Mille feuille,

Layered

Onion’s

Tear

 

Dances the dressage’s

Formal

Fearful

Dance.

 

Folding the fragile

Quail’s egg

Fabric

 

So,

Oh so

Fine.

 

With icing

Sugar’s

Filigree

Frame.

 

On the pristine

Mountain’s

Hillside path.

 

Each tender

Ticklish

Toe

 

Teasing and

Making

Its way

In the virgin snow.

 

To soothe

The heart’s

Lyrical

Waxing

Scar.

 

Written in

That first,

First

Fateful

Touch.

 

That prised

Prised open

The whalebone

Chasm

Of his chest.

 

And found

The black and white

Span

Of hope’s

Tender

Tender chord.

 

And placed

His stubborn

Heel

Hard

On the dancer’s stage.

 

To soar

On desert winds

Crescent moon

 

And to count

The infinite,

Infinite

Stars.