Gabriel Calls (+6)

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)