Poetry / Prose

God has come down!
Taking on mortality and dying flesh,
The Christ has visited us!

The burden he carried to the cross, no one can know.
He cared what we thought, lifting all our baggage
of prejudice and pride, yet
knowing how we would respond
to His truth.

He loved us to His death,
knowing we might not respond.
But to those who do, He holds out His hand
of forgiveness and grace,
A fountain of life for those who can bring
themselves to value His gift.
Eternal life! and nothing less.

There once was a man who went out one day
To seek and to find his chosen bride.

He knew, once he chose her, that he would then be true
To her and to himself, there was no other course.
For his love, once pronounced, was irrevocable;
He would persist, no matter what, forever without remorse.

The whispering hush
Of the breeze through the rushes
On the shores of Emmigrant Lake.

A hot summer day
With our feet in red clay
Molding patties on the rocks there to bake.

A more innocent time
And the world was more kind
To a kid growing up, singing, and laughing,
And running through the shadows of the Siskiyous.

When I finally stop runnin'
From all my various problems
I'll be a more productive person
When I finally stop runnin'.

I'll wake up earlier every day
And get my own work done.
And then I'll go to bed, reflecting
On the battles that were won,
Instead of daily seeking an escape
In some important new distraction,
Or wasting all my precious time
In this selfish introspection.

Where can I go
to escape my daily troubles in this life?
And who'll be a friend
who'll scratch my back with something other than a knife?
People seem to be so cold, as though
the fires of humanity have been extinguished.
Whence comes this rain down on us all
as if we all must in this chill forever languish?

Okay, this is not doctrine. This is not dogma. It's just my imagination... I am putting myself in the place of Jesus, as he faces the cross at Calvary, and even as He is going through the throes of His crucifixion. Please do not think I am being irreverent or presumptuous. I do not pretend to be holy or to identify with the Deity, as Christ surely could.

This is, from the viewpoint of a man (of which Jesus was one) standing before his God at the point of persecution from those whom he loves, my imagined prayer of Christ, who loved others more than He loved life itself...

I'm making my way back
To where, I haven't always been sure
And at times, I had no clue
But now I know, and I will die,
Seeing it through. 

There was a day that I launched out
On my journey through life.
Whatever direction, it didn't much matter
For I was on my way.
But "way to where?" I paused not to consider.
As long as it was my way, and
Not the way of another. 

“I think, therefore, I am,”
thought the thinker.

“As I do, so am I,”
thought the doer.

And yet!—do they not both think, and do?

For the doer does what he thinks best,
As the thinker does his thinking, as best he can.
Do they not both do their best in what they do, or think?

Then what of God's opinion of either?
Shall we imagine that He cares?
Does He in fact prefer one over the other?

And is God, Himself, a thinker or a doer?
Surely He thinks before He does,
and surely He does what He thinks He shall do.

I waited, seemingly forever
to meet the one who is you...

And since that day I cannot resist
this unction to love you for all my life,
As though I am reflected in a mirror
of God's love for His own.

My love for you
is a reflection.

Two in one,
One in two,
are we destined to be
this reflection?

Time might tell,
but I already know.
My love for you is a reflection
Of God's love for me.

It was never a question, for myself, whether I would one day
     be what, and whom, I wanted to be.
The fact had always stood,
     with opportunities in abundance.
But there that day the questions seemed to proliferate.
What next to do that I hadn't already tried?
—or that wasn't so similar as to quench 
     any hope of satisfaction in my quest.
And, "Quest for exactly what?" I could no longer answer.
Had I ever known? Or was I now just tired of the empty humor.
With no one else in the room to fill the silence