May 13, 2009 / Creative Writing
I watched Rebel Without a Cause on TV late one college night when I learned …
October 10, 2004
Cool with dew drenched berries,
The morning’s glory
The lingering summer stars,
To touch the face
That every child
Forgets upon awakening
But longs for
In our lonely days
The mother who was ours.
Wellspring of all beauties,
She who was
And then was lost
The womb of life and breath,
Splendor, honor, and deceit
Bloodborn giver of our death.
Listen, how the songs of heaven sigh
And whisper in the hush of wind swept trees
The echoes of them linger in the cry
Of creatures of the air and of the seas.
The waves that leap and crash against the walls
Of craggy cliffs that bar them from their way
Echo like the music in the halls
Locked within these bodies of decay.
The longing of the moon and stars is heard
In melodies they weave into the wind
Like the breath of God which stirs awake the bird
That flutters in the cage of its own sin.
Free us from the chains of our despair!
Who can break this bondage that we bear?
Within the twisted tunnels of the mind
There is a room
That stands between the wordless soul
And a hearing world
And in that room the nameless senses
Of the heart
Are wrapped in symbols ancient Babel
To be delivered to the hallways of
Unveiled as understanding to
When thought is made sound
When Word is made Flesh