Death, whose face is downcast, bloodied, bent Withholds his hand, uplifted, given pause As in the face of fear and dark intent The victor stands unmoving, all because Death is a weaker being. See, his wounds Are greater than the ones the victor wears. And death casts down his shield
Let there be a holy kind of noise; Let the truth be set on fire in words. May the meditations of my heart Be pleasing in thy sight, my patient Lord Of hosts and hearts and headstrong, bloodwashed saints, And let the joy of taking breath ring out. No lifeless
Breathlessly awaiting your return Expecting you to boldly make a move, And saddened when my expectation's crushed Because it casts a light of doubt on love. Inspire me--I cannot step out first Without the simple trust that you'll come too. Sweep me away with rolling tides
That art has held the hope I thought unseen Transcends my first unbroken view of life. Its breath transpires through words and scattered light, Held forth beyond my reach while I contrive. But if I strive with art and hope and light It holds at bay the dark, lethargic sleep;
Drunk on chocolate-- (bubble wrap, Escapist fiction, once a nap) And in denial, old while young Tangled up, immobile, sung Somebody else's song, all wrong. January, strangely warm Curled up in empty dorm. So enlightened in four years; Loss of innocence, it sears The heart like frost can