When I was a windy boy and a bit
And the black spit of the chapel fold,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of women),
I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wood,
The rude owl cried like a tell-tale tit,
I skipped in a blush as the big girls rolled
Nine-pin down on donkey's common,
And on seesaw sunday nights I wooed
Whoever I would with my wicked eyes,
The whole of the moon I could love and leave
What happens in heaven?
Will I sit on a cloud?
Is walking or talking
Or jumping allowed?
Will I be on my own
Or with some of my friends?
Does it go on for ever
Or eventually end?
Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels'
hierarchies? and even if one of them suddenly
pressed me against his heart, I would perish
in the embrace of his stronger existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror
which we are barely able to endure and are awed
because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Each single angel is terrifying.
And so I force myself, swallow and hold back
the surging call of my dark sobbing.
The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and stanch he stands;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket molds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new
And the soldier was passing fair,
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.
"Now, don't you go till I come," he said,
Veiling, barely, his dread
Beauty and its blaze,
An angel sets warm bread
and cool milk at my place.
His eyelids make the sign
Of prayer; I lower mine,
Words interleaving vision:
--Calm, calm, be ever calm!
Feel the whole weight a palm
Bears upright in profusion.
On the dark and gloomy night
Walking down the lonely trail
As if she was destined to fail.
With no clear destination in her mind
Escaping from something
Maybe it’s from her past.
With all the heartbreaks and scars
She wears her beautiful smile
in radiance and colors
yields life changing love
sign of love everlasting
and prayers answered
in orange sun of our days
I was a minister of the gospel, very happily living my life for the Lord,
Preaching the Word every Sunday, in the spirit of affinity and accord.
I always knew that I would preach, for I had been called in my youth,
To perpetually serve the will of God, while forever speaking His truth.
Like the lush gardens of springtime, are all abloom with fresh purpose,
Spreading joy with their presence, in a gold, green ritual that is ageless.
I lived an exceedingly busy life, doing work that was dear to my heart,
“Throw me something Mister!”
She hollered from the heavens up above...
Some pretty beads...
As she quietly pleaded...
Or maybe a turtle dove...
We lost her way too early...
She was a gift from God...
A beautiful child...
Both sweet and mild...
I see an angel all cloudy white...
My first intuition is to run in fright...
But should I stay and then I might...
Get a little closer and touch the light...
I see an angel floating high above...
My defensive side says to give it a shove...
But the angel is so pure and white as a dove...
I want to get closer and feel the love...