I Promise To Come Tomorrow

I walked into her room;
Pink prayer shawl
Draped the foot of the bed.
I drew it up over her shoulders
Whispering words that stirred her.
Many prayers were whispered for you
As the knitting went, row by row,
Are with you now. Her breathing is
Shallowed by drugs to keep the pain at bay.
I think she is more alert
For a moment.
She wants me to pray.
We speak words. She needs more than words.
She needs the freedom of pain free eternity.
It is hard to let go, hard to let her go,
Hard to say the words lest it happen – now.
We hold hands.
And I promise to come tomorrow.

Two Old Men

I sit beside two
Old men
Who talk.
The value of words
And music
Can’t be overestimated
Among the young,
Their students.
And my listening
In?
Does it count as
Eavesdropping?
Or is it only my
Wishing for company
And finding it
In the overhearing?

Lament for a Mad World

Draft copy of some poetry I’m working on.

Lament for a Mad World

The darkness is thick
It clings and blinds the innocent,
If there are any innocent
Left.  The madness has devoured
My naïveté, and laid me waste;
Stripped to dry bones
Of doubt and fear.
Why? I ask, and get no answer
But silence.  So I take the silence
And in it find One answer,
“I have overcome.  All is not
Lost.  I Am.”

Hide me in that knowledge
Like a refuge. Remind me
Of the saints gone on before.
The darkness could not choke
Their light nor hide your power.
And though it seems
That all around me now
Is bound by chains of night,
A Light, the Word
Has come to free us all.