Hope is the circumference of life
Faith is the circle of the fall
Creation the mighty exponent of
Oxygen and water, blood and time
History notes love is posterior
To fate, that seal of light
That spreads what we were
And mixes it with the cycles
That never stop, only recede to start again
Revelation cannot end with
Going blind, we learn to listen
Silence is the jewel of posterity
The future, the brimming Deity in our eyes
Perhaps we ask too large a place
No less to explore the furthest skies
Hope remains the circumference
Faith ends all beliefs of smaller bundles
Creation the happening where we exist
Open to all accidents of loss
Yes, oxygen, water, blood, time
These too will be taken away.
Bible, blog, Book of Revelation, Buddhism, Christianity, Circumference, culture, cycles, Emily Dickinson, existential poems, God, hero's journey, Jesus, karma, Lord's Day, poet, poetry, Religion and Spirituality, writer
I am a living acre without design
an apparent order of action in anonymity
this wind and sun are my neighbors here
i yet attain a shadow or of a squirrel
a silent truce with general nature
and the idea of a plan, severely retarded further
by the poignant excess of luxuries to the few –
I am a living care of temporary possession
an apparent cause of love in union
this landscape and tree are my playmates here
i yet attain a shadow or an art of flower
a silent truce with universal chance
it might be famine all around, but we still
live from smile to smile, by happiness
and small wonders fed, the years
i have been without a home.
Denver Broncos, Emily Dickinson, evolution, existence, existential poems, Florida, Fumble, Health, Houston Astros, Mark Sanchez, nature vs. human being, observer, Peyton Manning, Tom Brady
Who occupies this House?
A stranger I to myself must judge –
With unknown quantity of love
For a selfish world, I live in vain?
Who occupies this Stage?
Since no one knows his Circumference –
I would write upon the door
Half my life I owe to circumstance
Who occupies this World?
But bio-programs of newly raised Afternoons
Inhabitants in a half-life pre-defined
But where do the Golden birds assemble?
Who occupies this breeding field?
Must I breed then too, to feel alive –
‘Twas settled long ago I suppose
In some unknown territory of Ghosts & DNA
Until I as a pioneer learned to forget myself
And follow footprints that were made
I found peace, when I learned not to judge.
Activism and Peace Work, blog, children, culture, DNA, Earth, Emily Dickinson, existential poems, fate, Half-life, meaning of life, Peace, poetry