My heart belongs to providence,
as I walk that final mile
My footsteps bought and paid for,
when I clear the last denial
My faith is bold and steadfast,
a new rain begins to fall
Through the fog a horn is blowing
the gate open—Gabriel calls
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
From \'The Book Of Prayers\'
Poet
Prince without a lineage
King without a throne
Master without servants
Lover of that unknown
Hearer of what’s unspoken
Seer of things divine
Lord among the jesters
Voice for all the mimes
Reason, when excuses falter
Questioner, when answers fail
Link between the seasons
—first breath a baby wails
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
Wanting Only To Rhyme
Before I could return to writing prose,
the Muse kidnapped my pen by decree
Most days fully structured and measured on end,
but tonight
—words yearned to be free
Each story cerebral, its words to describe,
new plots marching forward in time
With fables inscribed for others, not I,
my true voice
—wanting only to rhyme
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
Another Look
Another day with a voice
—one more glimpse into forever
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
Hell Upon Earth
The livery on fire,
its horses set free
Misery beckons,
the future to bleed
The gates are broke open,
all streets painted red
Death has awakened,
life dragged from its bed
One bugle is left,
blowing perdition’s melee
All swords are unsheathed,
terror sharpens dismay
Tomorrow unpromised,
today but a curse
The monster has cometh
—a hell upon earth
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
So Hard Undefined
Neither over nor under,
ahead or behind
My position unreferenced,
your judgment still blind
Not over or under,
ahead or behind
So easy once labeled
—so hard undefined
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
If
If we were young men,
if we were strong
If we had fresh words,
to add to our song
If we were soldiers,
with war in our veins
If we were poets,
our voices reclaimed
If we were lovers,
of women that cried
If we went wandering,
our heart’s reapplied
If we were statesmen,
the world in our grasp
If we were sailors,
the wind at our backs
If we were farmers,
with meadows so green
If we were actors,
on stages supreme
If we were hunters,
new wolf on the prowl
If we were dreamers,
all wishes allowed
If we were young men,
still facing the sun
But alas, we are old
—and darkness has come
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)