Here the flame that was ash, shrine that was void,
lost in the haunted wood,
I have tended and loved, year upon year, I in the solitude
Waiting, quiet and glad-eyed in the dark, knowing that once a gleam
Glowed and went through the wood. Still I abode strong in a golden dream,
For I, I that had faith, knew that a face would glance
One day, white in the dim woods, and a voice call, and a radiance
Fill the grove, and the fire suddenly leap . . . and, in the heart of it,
End of labouring, you! Therefore I kept ready the altar, lit
Most near, most dear, most loved, and most far,
Under the huge window where I often found her
Sitting as huge as Asia, seismic with laughter,
Gin and chicken helpless in her Irish hand,
Irresistible as Rabelais but most tender for
The lame dogs and hurt birds that surround her,—
She is a procession no one can follow after
But be like a little dog following a brass band.
She will not glance up at the bomber or condescend
To drop her gin and scuttle to a cellar,
You are deceiv'd; I sooner may, dull fair,
Seat a dark Moor in Cassiopea's chair,
Or on the glow-worm's uselesse light
Bestow the watching flames of night,
Or give the rose's breath
To executed death,
Ere the bright hiew
Of verse to you;
It is just Heaven on beauty stamps a fame,
Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.
(America never was America to me.)
Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed--
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
Across a world where all men grieve
And grieving strive the more,
The great days range like tides and leave
Our dead on every shore.
Heavy the load we undergo,
And our own hands prepare,
If we have parley with the foe,
The load our sons must bear.
The stars will twinkle so brightly,
When our loving Master comes,
So hold onto blissful faith tightly,
Through myriad tangerine suns!
Jade hills will ring with laughter,
In plum diamond sunshine glitter,
As the dim past ceases to matter,
And never again is anyone bitter.
The condition of mine will improve someday,
But many people will get from my heart,
The persona of life is difficult to beat
I need not to stop and be on my way.
In the era of enduring darkness,
Faith in almighty is all that we have,
The mist of hope will soon arrive,
Love and courage will bestow awareness.
A colleague asked “Are you a Christian”?
Implying if I practice my religion every day?
What a topic, subtly graphic,
How to answer, what to say?
A moral trap to utter “Yes”,
‘Thou shalt not lie’ jumping instantly to mind,
Should I now smile, force him to guess
Not showing I’m so clearly in a bind?
Running down the highway...
Seeking a connection...
Looking for some substance...
Tired of fake affection...
Searching for the answers...
To my many questions...
Trying to put a stop to...
All my sick obsessions...
I was once something of a pessimist, and that fact did not concern me,
As violet birds are content, to spend their nights in different trees.
Still I had a happy and quiet existence, or at least I thought I did,
Like a moon glimmering all her tranquil life, when reddish sun is hid!
My attitude didn't come from bitterness, I just had an analytical mind;
And like bees searching for nectar, needed all the proof I could find.
But I totally missed the fact, that looking to tomorrow requires faith,