Where does this shame come from?
This insistent disconnection from the one.
Covered up by signs of dissent
In times of improvement
Carried forth straight by chance?
In what direction do my eyes see
When I face it straight on,
The guilt within, the guilt residing,
Along the stone-sidewalk and florid lawn?
Where shall my eyes roam when they only can make it
To where they belong, within, in the Son of the Maker,
To whom shall I insist I am the home of a creator,
Or confess my heart, the buried within,
The whatever it is You make it?
Heaven
If heaven is the place to be,
I will be there.
This Blessed Heart Within
The way to the moon is through the spell of a spoon,
To the way of the sky,
To going way out of the mind’s eye,
To being on top of the world in a peak of transcendence,
To coming down for the wayfarers in their spell of ascendence,
To watching out for the do-gooders riding their marches of freedom,
To being at peace with the painting of the whole chapel’s ceiling,
To being in harmony with the way all the colors blend together,
To remember besides you there is nothing better,
To going to a circle through a body swirl rush,
To going sideways, upside down, with the moon in the rush,
To the way the stars are all hanging down o’er our heads
To the way we always keep on keeping on making sense,
To the sound of the freedom caught through the windows,
In the lair by the garden where the sad roses grow,
To the liberation that comes with the heart of yearning,
To the sound of the children making up the bees swarming,
To the sound of the stillness and sad harmony
Of still, sad humanity, heartfelt made of leafs,
And trees all in yearning for the sound of more freedom,
While their tossing and turning to all they are given,
To the way that it comes for more and more to go,
And the way that it goes for more and more to know,
And the way that it sounds on the meaning of the dock,
To her at the quay wandering without a twisted knot,
To taking off on sailboats to far distant lands,
To embracing life as exiles, nomads with a plan,
To running in circles to the way that it all sounds,
To remembering the function of the halos coming down,
To recollecting that its better someday because all is brushed aside
By the power of your redemption when it opens apples’ eyes,
And the power of your freedom, taking up full control,
To the heart that is yearning for the way that it is known,
To the heart that is dawning upon his salvation yet again,
To the gratitude that fills up this blessed heart within.
No comments:
Post a Comment