In Winter, Merits have a Woman in Mind

Listen, Hae.mi, there are no paths closed
Between you and I, where optimism points her passion
Where the door is to the universe
This is not the time for prayers

But the time to act, my lovely field
Where I play in all that is Heaven
O’, I’ve known thee in thy dress of whiteness
And in the tempest of thy insomnia

The league of ours is beautiful
Based on the soulful arts, and
I feel as though I’ve not seen the last
Of your smile, in my poet’s arms

The sacred sacrifice of the bard
Is not nearly over, the muse bends
In a festival of tempting destiny
Such being the idol of my consumption

To the beauty I know I rest in thee
To the wonder and harmony of all that’s good
Hae.mi, the secret entrance to your life’s totality
There are no citizens or policies there

Only the abode of ritual and sweet shyness
The last warm flesh of hope and gladness
And all those things not native to me
That you possess like jewels, fruit, perspective

An abundance of so much radiance I keep
Following your spark for a hint of the luminous
And at the court of your entrepreneurship
I’m firm like the dawn of the world

For your sunsets and miracles of action
Your nurturing of the beauty in all of us.

Photo Courtesy.

State of Wonder

Travel

Music of the soul

(lessons in Cognitive ecstasy)

Lullaby of a Lifetime of Living Bliss
(lessons in Cognitive ecstasy)

There is a cognitive brilliance in
Thought’s end at the edges of beauty
How the last colors spilled
In the pale air, the color of light
That drink o traitorous beauty

Again and again, so intimate
Like the breath of a woman
We knew that never seemed present

Only just around the corner, so
Indefinably alien and inalterable
The one our body and soul pitted
Time and space against, rubbing
For quantum moments in quiet nothingness

“Be self no more against the flooding dark”
Women whispered to themselves to be strong
But I felt the stars and worlds come alive

In the presence of women, like following my bliss
To the ends of the Earth, where would I arrive?
In the heritage of green that was once
An everywhere, that became a nowhere
There is a spiritual ‘must’ in

Thought’s end at the edges of silence
Where the spirit goes because it must
Like something homeless in the night

“Though but the world they say is mine”
Says the woman to herself, after becoming a mother
How the last colors spilled
In the pale golden air, the color of milk
Spilled like a last majority of bliss attained

That made the dust and journey seem to shiver
And how at our roots the violet seemed to burn
And love, how it was more thick

With stars than the fields with dew
And we felt the hours hold their summer-breath
For the sleepy fever of incredible joys.

D r e a m s of S p r i n g

D r e a m s of S p r i n g

O’ these unpermitted prayers
These poems of music welled inside
The tears of the heart of the brain

I wonton murmur dreamy my soul to fain
With averted eyes and heart-open wide
Not to humanity, but to the universe

I nurse my speech with the infinite
As a mystic cornered in a brutal world
That cannot feel the lapped tender light

May-time is here, grazing dreams
Of May-bushes that turn white to pink
I can scarcely speak of lyrics

Beauty is in the perfect sunlight
And happiness in the tips of the forests
The ocean that drives a sleeping wind

Across the fragrances of this natural world
O’ these unpermitted silent revolutions
What have we done to this world?

Where is the soft moss, the birds
The odours I used to know?
Drowsy with change I will have to wait

With heavy eyes and softer cheek
How to compose the perfect music
For such poor voices and poppied ears

Draw close the curtains to this place
I have branched evergreen in my veins
And sweetest tastes of the divine fountain deep

In my hopes for buds unseen
Wishes fading like the embroidery of rainforests.

Spring’s Blue Sky Pales to Lemon

Spring’s Blue Sky Pales to Lemon

These days are fresh
Like being washed in May
I’m the smell of Tulips

Sunshine pours the Spring into me
I’m cleaved by bright light
And water is my jewel of skin
I am greenish-white in youth
The day is too lovely to bear

I’m walking down it
With a high blue sky to stare
And I have an audience

With beautiful people
Near me, walking passed me
I’m at the breakfast table
Of life, wished well with
Tendering tastes and smells and colors

The fresh-washed sunlight
Is cooking happiness in me
My heart a warm glad clap

Of coffee-cup stream
A thin spiral of cathedral liquid stained
Reflections on my body
Speaking yellow, green and blue
I skid the dust and wind that flirts

With bare ankles and the water-cart
Of bodies, fresh from their
Crimson split sighs of coming out

At the tap-tap of the season
Jarring jasmine above rose-coloured skirts
The flesh that rings the quiet and the high
Nature’s fresh-washed air of clean
Feeling midday flares, the shudder

Of blurring pleasure with nameless joys
This is it, gold blind tips of context
Floods of flame for new bodies

The flesh cascading again eddies of light
That quiver, drop and smile
Till the unruffled night plans a gleam
Of electric signals and tantalizes
The sound of wind in trees

The city alive with tulips bare-breasted
With the buds and flowers
That are so tranquil and friendly.

Wisdom we acquired in each other

Wisdom is acquired in insight and experience

I want a silent woman to console
We’ll be together
A hush over everything

Silent women wait for love
While the world waits for spring
Spring is here and life has

Loveliness to sell
We’ll be those beautiful and splendid things
That have no price but youth’s offering

Carless and content like
Holding wonder like a cup
My own spirit has a feeble mastery

Of the deeper emotions that you stir
Whose vision is a warmth unconcealed
And a nudity of sense and soul

I want a feeling woman to explore
We’ll be together
The art of joy, joy of art
And thirsty range of the bounds of beauty.

The Medicine Collaboration #NaPoWriMo #Gratitude

When I was a young poet, toiling on the writer’s cafe (www.writerscafe.org), there was this one constant presence. One indomitable giver of praise, recognition, reviews. I won’t forget WHO that was, or their quality of compassion, generosity and their human spirit: it’s

https://johncoyote.wordpress.com. This poem is dedicated to him:

The Medicine Collaboration

Life is hard, they used to tell me
I didn’t not understand
Until I found out for myself

Life punishes the ones we love
Enough, to internalize kindness
Is there a cost to being kind?
Mercy, forgiveness, gratitude

It’s not an investment
Altruism isn’t a burden
Being nice isn’t difficult

Life is hard, I heard it again
From my own mouth
Later in life, and I could see
What they were saying

Cut jobs, heartbreaks, divorce, debt
Living had a silent toll

Art was a release of the good & bad
The chronicle of our relationship
With a God, that wasn’t going
For an easy life without errors
Failures had a place in our learning

Evolution wasn’t afraid
Of tragedy, dying young, cancer

Life is hard
So why not try to do some good?

Seasons to Sing

Poetry is another philosophy of life

I’ve been drunk on words
For a decade of my golden-bronze
Youth that found inner maturity
On reading poems

Finding truth and beauty
In the voices of human hearts
That were left on pages

There, as if for me to read
The writer is the sacred audience
I’ll never roll my eyes
At a work of art, because

I know how much sweat goes into it
It’s a labour of love
I’ve been drunk on lyricism

For lyrics of a few minutes
That burned and blew
In so much mental well-being
It made divinity accessible

And the stars seem more near
Broadening the inner horizon
Like a fresh mind

Poetry does not require
Work, it’s a play
Let me explain
Just read more of these words

Inserting images of rebirth
And autumn unimaginable
Of the destiny that was spring

The spring I have found again
In mental vocabulary
We all possess this poetic capacity.

Lucid about No Tomorrow

You Who were My Introduction to Spiritual states

There is no such thing
As light at the end of the tunnel
Only falling things that
Are on fire from their fall
That’s where you come in
That’s when, you
Came into my life

An observational study of love
Developed over time
Given to me only
When the timing was right
Surprise laws whose operations

Made sense only in retrospect
Built upon the loses of
An unordinarily sad fate
I found improvisation
Of feeling one of my

Chief saving graces
Like an dominant power
In a weak hand
In the gamification of life
I’m convinced

There is no such thing
As light, only fuel
The fault lies into our introduction
To material states, we think
This all lasts forever

But if reincarnation was a no-show
I’d give up all known strategy
For just one more minute with you.

In no shape for Time

Outside of Time

I am always and ever
At any given point
Aware of the space between us
How we all follow some destined path
Gold, silver, green, purple
Fates, I call them ribbons

The signatures of light
We leave in the hearts of other people
When we are gone
They can approximate
How close we came to them
Inwardly, all symbolic

ii

With bodies as translucent
As the future will afford us
I am always and ever
Taking off clothes, memories
Assumptions, judgement
To reach the stillness between us

Where I wait for you dear
If you are lonely
You can always find me
Anticipating mind-touch
And the rain together like
The fragrance of forgiveness.

Your Poems became my Confessions

 

Your Poems became my Confessions

The poem began innocently
As lumps in your throat
You shave and trim them
Until they are perfect

But I don’t do that, I won’t
But when I read your work
Emotion finds its way
Into the architecture of psyche

Past the layers of skin
Into the bridge of passion
And as a symbol, I spontaneously
Burst with what makes you tick

As the same think that makes me whole
And that’s a powerful catalyst
For truth from grief and power
From sacrifice, and I’m an alchemist

When I read your work, and that’s
A crazy audience, uplifted from poverty
These poems begin innocently enough
So be careful what you do to me

Your words burn into me like erotic memories
And chatting about who to blame
For who we are, I fell for your ancestors
And by association, you, we both wanted

What we cannot pay enough to have
Pain became our meaning
And writing became our life
And if the present is indeed the

Revenge of the past, I have a feeling
My poems will reflect your silence.

About Solitude and Infatuation

Alone Quotes | Forward this Picture

Being alone with Eun Ji

I’m five down dead in red

I bend where the sun hits

I shift to gain access

To the bursting shadows

Voyeuristic to your ghosts

The rains is like a lullaby

But the blood of a writer

Eun Ji, I’m a secret manifestation

 

Of your psyche, both silent

And wounded in existence

Both everything and nothing

For your eternity of being

And there is a vague red trail

Leading from my life to yours

It’s like an avalanche of nostalgia

When you shudder I feel light-headed

In this way, I have swallowed

The memories of someone else

And I would gladly color your body

But after all those dreams of dying

We learned to love dying

In each other’s arms, disguised

Like lonely vehicles to murder the world

Our solitude didn’t make us crazy

It just reminded us who we were

And for that I am lonely:

Loneliness is not being alone

It’s to love another’s soul

To no avail, but I have time

Time to tangle myself into

The spiral veins of your inner voice

Maybe the only voice

That can reach me now

And I write about you because

I’m scared of writing, however

I’m more scared of not writing

Eun ji, in my mind you have become a poem

But I cannot stop writing or speaking

Because you amplify the my inner Asian-ness

And the zero-point of all poetic intent in me.

Loving poetry, like a body of love

Loving poetry, like a body of love

Each of us have tasted
In ecstasies of stealth
Forever hidden alphabets
The fruit of dreamy-knit language
The stars that grow on words
Forever to be partially hidden

In the author’s mind
Tonight she lies
Naked and resembling

A word made fresh with a gesture
Of a symbol of a dream
That shares a secret gleaming
For those who know how to hear
That tattoo of wisdom
That little totem of care
Crosses the lyrics fragrant
With the pulse of beauty
Loving poetry, like a body of love.

Mythweaving our way to happiness

Mythweaving our way to happiness

Where are the ornament of joy
Are they hidden from us?
Of all the stars most beautiful
I cannot convey
——————————–

How difficult it is to view them
Here, in the city
Where men walk over other men
Who lie sleeping on the ground
——————————–

We put the dazzling dawns
In our pockets
And forget them there
So rushed are we to
——————————–

Achieve our goals
Like, saving up for retirement
Or, planning our next trip
Meeting someone to make us happy
———————————-

Cloth dripping
Gold exposed
Parents dying
Numbness all around…..
————————————-

Where are the clues to learning?
Have we forgotten how to change?
Of all the silver slips of space
I cherish most
————————————

I cannot convey
But I am not someone
Who likes to wound
Rather, I have a quiet mind
————————————–

We compete in this world
And I converse in my dreams
With the desire to do good
In a world as helpless as this.

Before I had you

before I had you
I had nature to admire or something
akin to a background unity
Of all spiritual time and sacred “everywhere”
It was nearly enough to sustain me

I loved nature, and I still do
But you have changed “Nature”
And in a way, you are now
My everything, harmonious and flattering
The heartfelt call beyond roses

And I don’t regret the responsibility
Of being mated, cuddled, sacrificed
to the “us” our lives have become
before I had you
I distinctly remember being miserable

or some shade of bored with myself
And that my dear, is you
A light that’s better than the sun’s rays!
I guess flowers are more flowery
With inner and outer beauty

Easily within reach
Before I had you
I ached for flowers
But I only had my verses
And they exquisitely wept to endure

Into the far future as if untarnished by death
And certainly I don’t recollect
The memories associated with those poems
Before I had you
All I had were mere words

And the inner music that had inspired them
Verses that celebrated the brevity
Of life’s delight and the ancient union of things…

I am Silent

There is no grasping Loveliness
That is mystic nectar
Spirit indivisible, nature pure
As morning breeze and dawn
Unreflected, as the wordless measures

Of the few drops of grace
We may experience in our lives
Longing for the Universe
The soul finds a strange victory
In God, divinity, the goodness in

Act, speech, thought, kindness
In empowering life, children
In protecting others, the elderly
In helping others, the less fortunate
In meditation, to a cosmos everywhere

How many voices of love do I hear?
Lao Tzu, Hafiz, Rabia, Arabi
Krishna, what indulgence is this?
She and I no more, but One
In Sanskrit wedding of the psychic being

Undivided, blended and in union
With all aspects of creation
Identity, empathy and identification
That is the key, the Room for One
The Beloved, the mystic drink

In music, in art, in rituals, in relationships
In life, residing as if in love’s city
Come then, Thou art the Soul
Thou art the bringer of the point intense
That spins, as centuries, that spins as trance

Fierce and tender, slow and sweet
Divine and human, Beloved, whose
Drink is flowers, blood, friendship
The peace of silence and surrender
The love that comes when every atom
Grows articulate with a thirst for divinity.

Featured Photographer:

https://www.facebook.com/SilviaTraviesoPhotography/info

http://www.starg691.deviantart.com

Photo Courtesy:
1. http://starg691.deviantart.com/art/Esprit-Confus-467828162
2. http://starg691.deviantart.com/art/19-Lady-bird-457195693

Whispers of Music

Birdsong brings relief
To my inner music
Whispers that became a voice
Of a girl looking at the moon
That was my daughter and not

Ecstatic for some star practice
Souls that laugh in light
Watersong brings relief
To my inner waiting
Some song ran through me

Whispers that became a melody
Lovesong brings relief
To all the sorts of desires
I used to play in my mind
Whispers that became a voice

How blind and deaf I was
Truthsong sees unity everywhere
Even in the sorrow and drama of the world
The minute I realized this
I was never the same again

Spirit sees nothing to criticize
Soulsong loves an entire lifetime
No matters the ills, no matter the obstacles.

So sing me a song, O love
O purity O deep music
Let me serve a higher cause
Like stainless endless radiance.

Featured Photographer:

https://www.facebook.com/SilviaTraviesoPhotography/info
http://www.starg691.deviantart.com

Photo Courtesy:

1. http://starg691.deviantart.com/art/23-Look-at-the-stars-461022842
2. http://starg691.deviantart.com/art/18-Outside-there-s-a-storm-453610684

EYES

I don’t know the etiquette
of how eyes meet or for the first time
if they sparkle especially or

if I wore glasses the first time we met
I know I saw you with my intrinsic
looking as if I could pierce
your inner beauty, nor am I biased

I don’t know the business of eyes
beauty has been so over-rated
for so long, thanks to an evolution

but I know the last time
I look inside my heart, you’ll be there
with Asian eyes as deep as
India, China, Japan, Korea

so distinct like laughter of another culture
i don’t know the etiquette of eyes
but mine are drunk brown

not twin-cold blue or milk of salt
but chesnut-star, desire with the tip
of reaching across the universe.

Photo courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/The-Night-s-Eyes-II-129117202

to my children’s children

The future influences the present just as much as the past.
~ Friedrich Nietzsche

on the plateau of high-summer
we discover true signs of life
in the heart-beat of cicadas

in the sun among your sisters
in the heights of kites and populars
something is left there
among the gazing at the stars

walking the dawns of our
luxuriant wings, the creatures
we are still of stone and sling

still yearning for the green fields
tortured on the wheel of existence
we climb the decades like machines
only to enter another night

another Auschwitz, more human morbidity
but in elegy and idyll, there is
perhaps still some clear presence

of our innate goodness before
we are corrupted by the world
our souls still dreams possible mercies
still hovers and hangs over

elusive faiths, temples of art
myths of empowerment, elitism of free-will
not all of us maybe, certainly

only a lucky few, but that’s enough for me
we will still be measured
by descendants, like relics of ancestors
our mothers sacrificed for us but

rejoiced in life’s offering
the time of wisdom is nigh, our metamorphosis
where then, everyone is along

at the heart of the earth
ready to love the star-mangled hours
without contempt for the ruthlessness
of the universe, or the wickedness of man.

Photo courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Policko-471650926

Variations of a beauty lover

The only thing that can save the world is the reclaiming of the awareness of the world. That’s what poetry does.
~ Allen Ginsberg

I’ve made liquid nicknames for
the incomparable feelings of Earth
the peculiar surrealism of suffering

a dance of cycles and poverty in seasons
and prosperity in that experience of lack?
organic and passionate, thriving
in pure obscurity, that is the dilemma

there is no fame in doing what you love
only the pure satisfaction of being
connected to something larger than yourself

I’ve made friends with stars, books
as if I could plagiarize memories
like some ethical problem of the future
you tell me beauty is copyrighted?

I’ve charted universes in your eyes
thriving with an open soul for higher realms
of wisdom, disguised as a psalmist

I’ve seen the vital sources where destiny
Is drawn like a paradox of passion
I’ve seen the gracious gluttony
where we swallow our fate whole

only to arrive at a kind of handwriting
of who we were meant to be all along….
I’ll just keep living in that funeral free harmony

of inner renaissance, the piecemeal moments
of genius, where I am in perfect peace
with my creativity, fatherless, childless
but free, with a right to personal magic.

Art Credit to: http://www.deviantart.com/art/mermaid-tattoo-469620382

Angelic torso of a poem

I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests.
~ Pablo Neruda

I am the lotus on the menu
of soft and moist poems
that flow and swirl around the fireplace
by the window breeze, in rapture

for doctrine-dreams docile to divinity
the boundaries that have none
and peace that is washed on the nape

of your neck, the nouns-cherished like
flower breath, fragrance at your bottom-lip
hope heard like a photobomb
peach lyrics of vocal charm of forever

friends, spirits, pleas of narrative
that cuts to the heart of all experience
festival of physical discovery

in a maze of mantras, verging on light
the language of folds that covets songs
lyrics that is not spelled, silence that is not
empty, leaves in motion like verbal-dance

faith, in an avalanche of anticipation
that’s poetry, clean and with soft foundations
firm at the summit of her storm-blooms

perpetual attributes of sheltered stanzas
sweet as the taste of a lady’s geography
whose distance is as quick as summer
and whose memory lingers like youth

delicious to the mind, that drinks symbols
the hemline of all dress, words, clothes, books
the last formal invitation of literature.

to know the future

You may wonder why, I’m not
describing the landscape for you
it’s not my business as a poet anymore

you have eyes and a soul as wide
as a universe, eyes for
hieroglyphics and physics
a heart made of pure alchemy

if you’d only believe it
It was not my fault, that
Your animal journey was tragic

we all had elements of hooves, tongues, teeth
in our jungle journals of journeys
Our poetry was not for prophecy
our language was not to add details

to the human flesh of beauty
but to accept the sea as pure blue
to paint sunsets for cunning departures

in order to become a new person
where the plots did not suffocate us
but rather make us smile
at the irony of so many perilous colors

creation’s fresh monsters come to life
you may wonder why, I’m no longer with you
but in your memory, I’m the solid blood

that ran through you waiting
for the snakey orange eye of your future
the soft wobbling of the flower
for the most intense love of stars.

Poetry Deserves to be your Dream

Somewhere a solitary prisoner, like me
Begins to create the words of new dialogue
To appease some slice of soul
And if I no longer exist, you do

By doing what you love, writing
These citizens in private flight
A ritual of fire, guitar, tablecloth
Poetry is the easiest thing

It writes itself, like mouthfuls of sunlight
The poem creates a loving order
Executing words for fields of poetic justice
There is no room for nostalgia

Creation is a slave to change
Everything must yield to new worlds
And you know it as well as I do:
Every poem is fulfilled at the poet’s expense

Fountains of transparency, nothing like music
Will speak through my mouth, only
A sensitive center of a counter-point of blood
Where history woke to move, poetry came into being.

Art courtesy of: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Aqualegia-468477784

WHEN WILL I be able to RETURN?

After the long escort, now we part
What mixes all the days together
Gifted us this human world of togetherness
Green mountains: sweet fragrance
In each region, you are eulogised and cherished
Divinity happy in the heart, in a world
Of water and crystal and tranquil space
Nature walked with me, I was never alone
Golden orioles flit across the beams
Walking by flowers that smile like poems
Bright cotton floats in the air, like summer-snow
By the river’s talents at dawn’s friendship
I face a mural of living grace, breathing pockets
Of the splendid incense of shinning water
Yellow and red dirt seems right at place there
Paths and trails, rosy dawns of new lives
How can I be upset to grasp what’s hot?
Summer, spring and autumn mix in me
Myriad blossoms press the branches low
How I admire the river’s blue, the bird a perfect white.

The Power of Roses, 玫瑰力量

A flower was offered to me
You said you preferred Roses
Roses that nurse the Angel’s tears
But he who dares not grasp the thorn
Should never crave the rose

A flower was offered to you
A lush red Rose in its hint of perfection
It is the time you have wasted for your rose
That makes your rose so important
You who carry your fragrance over to me

With just the tip of your affection
But a Rose can grow, from just a crack in concrete
Whose to say that I would not nurture you
Some people grumble that roses have thorns
I’m grateful that thorns have roses

For if I bleed, it will be because of you
When you are drooping, I will hold you up
It is only goodness, that gives extras
So I say again that we have much to hope from
The flowers called Roses, cursive stains they may
Be in our lives, what a lovely thing a rose is!

A flower was offered to me
You said you preferred Roses
I feel as if have opened a book and found roses
Yesterday sweet and fragrant, between your leaves
Love is like a wild rose-briar, it blooms
Brooding in its flirtatious symmetry.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Rose-Red-110355899

ALWAYS SOMEONE’S GUEST

It is no surprise, the mouth of suffering
Cannot compare to the Bending River
The embroidery of nature renews all ill-sentiments
The waters refresh where once we tasted poisons

Dew chills the lotus pod of our youth
Mornings taint our flesh with anticipation
The pearly curtains of new days give us a hush
Now I lie by this cold river of forgiveness

Waves toss the wild rice seeds, but my eyes rise
To the colors of immortal companions
Favorite ideas, cherished ideals, precious values
My colored brush may have captured images

But the spirit of time bitterly hangs low
In gold and silver branches of green bronze
The moon comes out, and life is slippery as rain
That which gives it its support must be the High’s skill

It is no surprise, the fragrant leaves of yearnings returns
While even reclusive hermits like me, feel it
Long rains and harsh winds have not harmed the land
On the contrary, red flowers from the shown green
Will be someone’s guest tonight, a hundred years from now.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/–463238071

MAGNOLIA HERMITAGE

I

The morning sun has already risen
Thirty feet high, and I am too late
Too late for Golden Noons, one after another
Youth has fled, like old incense
Nauseated by the wine of this Earth
I hear too dimly the music of men

II

Their concerns do not concern me
The lilac tongue of women seeking after
Some stain of wealth or easy stability
I wish I would have mated with an embroidered laugh
Who wears scarlet in the deep goblets of dew-filled Spring
Ready for the jokes of her foolish lover

III

The morning’s light and slant is nearly done
Flower beds still quiver, the grass between my toes
Seems to chew the wind flowing by
Flying birds still seem to chase their mates
But the blue sky breaking clear calls me:
Tonight I am older and the evening mists

IV

Have nowhere to gather, so I ask myself:
How long can one man’s lifetime last?
If but fed on darkness and sunsets
Cycles of the formless vast?

Psalm 12

Help, Lord; for the godly has ceased in me;
For the faithful frail part of me has died
And this world’s corruption eats at my Will
My Will to Love, my tongue that’s silent
Our lips are our own: but where is my Divinity?
It does not reach for the stars
But is hidden in the shadow of my errors
I am oppressed by myself, my bad habits
And while I sigh for the needy, I am powerless
To help, to redeem this fate
The Words of the Lord of Love are pure
But purified now I am not, I am lost
Help, Lord; for the humble and the meek
Need a new kind of energy, strength, hope
When the vilest men are exalted, the most compassionate
Suffer the unbearable isolation of poverty
How long wilt thou forget me, Lord of Love?
How long wilt thou hide thy face from me?
I have been looking for you everywhere
In everyone, but only see glimmers now
Having sorrow in my heart daily
Consider and hear me, O Lord my cherished God.