Gospel of What we Have Writ

Gospel of What we Have Writ

Eun Ji, I found that perfect love casts out all fear
That I could love one another as
Nature hath loved us, or ancestors, or descendents
If our refuge can be found here

Let its strength be a very present solace
In the sorrow, trouble, obstacles
If love be the way, then we must
Work together for some greater good

That salvation might not be personal at all
But something shared, given, freely?
Is this not then the altruism of art
That it gives freely like the Saint

And loves the sinner as much as anyone
For how different are we truly in our weakness?
That strength is just life and youth
I can do all through meaning that strengths me

Finding meaning in this or that, does it matter?
For psalms, poetry and the sweetness of labor
That only gives in the doing and revitalizes all experience
That the inner flame in me can only be sufficient

And such is the inner-life that buds and bleeds and jewels
A stronghold of beauty, a tender gratitude which ascends.

It’s Dawn in Seattle

It’s Dawn in Seattle

Eun Ji, if I die at daybreak then
Let my night be the doom of poetry
The place where I extinguish all longing
All wishes that felt the weight of empty years

For if I am to know heaven’s daughters
Then I must be ready, to profit from sacrifice
And bear the burden of immortal dedication
For these words have their own kind heights

Which but from a gentle style un-kissed my cross
And toss the coins that land in the fountain
And I am the hand that puts a lock on the fence of locks
and I am the feet that must tread this lonely path

And these are the hearts that I have torn my fingers
On, like roses and felt the prick of mortality
All for well, an experience, so if I am dead before tomorrow
Let it be known that e’en in death poets speak

And answer with a fathomless smile, that echoes
The goodness of the swan-like sufferers
Who came before, and will come again
To write becomes the great abyss and the ultimate
Silver realm of pleasure, an organic virtual reality.

Alchemy of the Blessed

Alchemy of the Blessed

Eun Ji, sometimes in secret I think of you
And I bless you as the night is your abode
We writers must be part omniscience
Part prophet, for we imagine what

Is possible and must translate divinity
It’s our duty to take a piece of the universe
And place it as a hidden gift in the mind
We are alchemists then, with an eternal glow!

O God, how blest we are forever in this magic
That I could endure any external hardship
With a touch of the familiar weaving of poetry
In my psyche, I am the night, and judgement

Disappears and mercy is for every dawn
The dusty stuff of past years is no more
Only light settled in my brain when I am alone
And I write for the love of the dearest way

For we are all seekers somehow in our sport
And waiting to find the right vocabulary
That best expresses our original spirit’s incarnation.