Glowing Crowns

sunlight on trees in fall



Gleaming the sunlight blazes,
golden gleaming.
Lights afire regal, precious stones,
the jewels ablazing,
That sit on monarchs' lofty heads,
with glory crowning.

Rubies, perdots, bright topaz,
in splendor sitting.
Crown the tall tree-heads
in sunlight glowing.
Majestic stand like kings and queens,
their kingdom ruling.

At last the weary monarchs,
crowns removing,
send gems dancing, twirling to the ground,
a carpet glowing.
To make way for new crowns, new jewels,
new life springing.

Hunger

written during a time I was fasting

Behold, the feasts of the world are spread out.
Feasts of power and wealth are prepared.
From the farthest corners of the world they come,
offering all sorts of worldly pleasure.

They offer the might of kings and princes,
they are prepared in their banquet halls.
The wealth of Solomon, of all the world is set upon the table,
riches and powers and pleasures of the world.

I see these feasts, oh God, and my heart is empty.
The hunger of my soul does not abate.
What can quench this unutterable longing?
What feast is there where my hunger shall be sated?

For the feasts of the world set before me do not sustain.
If I feast on them still I will hunger.
They have no power to fill me up,
they do not satisfy my longing for something more.

You alone, my God, can satisfy me!
I will find lasting nourishment only in your grace
Not like the fleeting satisfaction of worldly feasts is my God,
but his love will fully satiate me.

The feasts of the world give me nothing.
When I partake of them still I hunger.
God alone will satisfy my cravings.
His grace is filling as meat and wine, like good food.

My God, My God, how my soul longs for you!
How I hunger daily for your graces!
My spirit is consumed by need of you.
Without you I would surely perish.

Your words, my Lord, give me strength.
They comfort me like food does a starving man.
You sustain me with your essence, with your very being.
For you my soul is longing.

I am in great need of your Spirit, Oh God!
My soul longs to be full of your grace.
It is pining to be filled with you,
to slake it's thirst with your love.

When you fill me I am satisfied,
while without you I wander hungry and destitute.
Therefore I approach as a beggar,
I beg, my God, for the scraps of your love, your mercy.

But your generosity knows no bounds,
instead of scraps you have given me a feast!
My soul is overwhelmed by your open-handed goodness,
you give contentment to my soul!

Will You

another poem after time in prayer and Adoration

Will you hear the cries of the wounded around you?
Will you see their affliction, take pity?
Will you answer? Will you step forward?
Will you fight? Will you bleed? Will you bear the wounds?

Will you be content with weaknesses?
Will you bear suffering?
Will you be open to total sacrifice?

Will you bear ridicules?
Will you be insulted, slandered?
Will you be hated?
Will you die each day?

Will you open yourself to unknown joy?
Will you let yourself love as never before?

Will you cast yourself into the ocean and find firm ground?
Will you step into the darkness and thereby find light?
Will you bear the pain and thereby find joy?
Will you give your life away but to find it once again?

Common

at a time I was particularly fed up with idiocy and academia, which can often be one and the same.

Give me those who live and bleed and die.
Give me the man who weary in body seeks to live the good life.
Give me the woman full of hurt who still loves.
Those who wander on the streets and scratch out a living,
who harbor in their hearts hope for their children,
keeping nothing for themselves.

They have truly loved, truly felt, truly wept, truly lived.
They live unfettered by theories and academic babble,
spewed forth by apes who masquerade as men,
who proclaim man as high and excellent,
and in the next breath reduce him to an animal.

How much I would rather be ruled by those who see life clearly:
poor in learning,
but rich in life and common sense.

The Morning Shield

inspired by the sunrise I can see from my office.

The morning shield is rising,
on blue fields swiftly rising,
and the shadows now are flying,
as he casts his light abroad.
And his eyes are bright and blazing,
like white hot flames are blazing,
and he's clothed in armor dazzling,
flame robed and golden shod.

His battle horn is blowing,
the call to battle blowing,
and the notes are fiercely flowing,
o'er field and mountain tall.
In forests dark they're echoing,
in tangled forests echoing,
in canyons dim they're bellowing,
as they herald evening's fall.

The shadows he is piercing,
with sharpened spear is piercing.
No hidden place he's missing,
as he calls forth the day.
And Apollo's steeds he's driving,
and dark before him driving,
and the shadows now are dying,
as he drives the dark away.

The demons now are wailing,
the shades and shadows wailing,
for their power sure is failing
against this shield of might.
With bright steel he's destroying,
their deadly hold destroying,
and they, brightness abhorring,
flee from his blazing light.

New hope in hearts he's kindling,
new life he now is kindling,
and souls now joyfully singing,
from darkness lift their eyes.
They hearken to his calling,
come marshall to his calling,
for they see the shadows falling,
and the night before him flies.

The morning shield is rising,
like Son of Man is rising,
who death's dark grasp defying,
brought life and light anew.
As he rose in glory shining,
like sunlight brightly shining,
that brings hope with each new dawning,
and lights the morning dew.

The Dome and Spire

inspired by the view of DC from my office building and my thoughts on politics in general.

On wings of dawn the sun does rise, a golden spire,
and gleaming rays alight on dome and spire
that stand amidst the sound of cry and moan,
of those wandering the kingdom, lost alone.
The gluttonous for power and snake tongued liars,
sit their in vice and power on their thrones.

Forgotten now their noble call, the call to serve.
From new and deadly tasks they will not swerve.
Those who once they served now denied both life and breath,
They trample the oppressed to dust and death,
those whose backs with heavy loads do curve.

Bickering these power hungry jackals sit in golden halls
devouring defenseless lives with hungry maws.
Then turning round with serpent hearts and eyes,
feed the people's fears with evil lies.
As they cackling gather power neath their paws.

Where now are servants true, to do what must be done?
Who'll save their people dying like sinking sun.
Truly unless they come with speed and haste,
on deadly paths our kingdom has been placed,
to a place of hell and misery, never undone.

Prayer of an Afflicted One

Oh Lord how long will this sickness afflict me?
How long will this blight be upon my soul?
My spirit is sick within me.
For many nights I have wept in anguish,
yet my bitter tears give me no sustenance.

When, my God, will you come to my aid?
Will my plea be unheard by your ears?
Behold the jackals close in about me,
cackling madly at my distress,
jeering at my wounded soul.

Turn not your face from me, oh God!
You who created me, do not abandon me now!
Without your aid I shall perish.
As surely as a blind man would perish in the woods,
will I perish without the help of the Lord.

Why, oh Lord, am I forsaken?
Why am I forgotten like the dead?
No companion have I save my grief
and the evil one who afflicts me,
mocking me in my pain.

My Spirit is assaulted by grief and anguish.
my soul is burdened with bitter sorrows.
Like an army besieging a city
my foes have besieged my soul.
With evil hearts they seek my life.

In this dark and sorrowful time
I have but one hope: the Lord.
I cast myself on his love and protection.
Surely he will shelter me in his arms,
as a father shelters his child from the terrors of the night.

My last hope is in you, my Savior.
Your mercy is my only chance for life.
Bereft of all other hopes I cling to you.
Save me, oh Lord, in my anguish!
Oh God, save my soul!

Although I feel alone against my enemies,
the Lord is not far from me.
When my spirit wails in desolation
the Lord will answer.
He will hear the cry of my lips
and rush with great haste to protect me.

For the Lord is their for all his children
even when they perceive him not.
A loving God, he abandons not his creations.
He watches over them with love
and protects them from the evil one.

Therefore, though my soul is sick and alone, I trust.
I trust in the Lord who will never leave me.
Like a mountain of rock he is there,
though my soul and senses perceive him not.
He will shelter me in his love.

A Soul Divided

This is from when our Student Ministry Team was preparing for the upcoming semester and I felt too small for the task.

The Spirit of Man

The dark descends devouring, a dark flame devouring.
Lord, how weak I am!
Like new born babe, beset by fears,
my spirit weak and trembling.

Cold the hearth of my soul, the flame of my spirit.
All now is ash within me.
What can you ask of one so weak?
What possible service can I render?

Does a child undertake hard labor?
How then can I do your will?
For in your eyes I am but a child,
and you ways are far beyond my own.

My own fears consume me,
beset on every side by terrors.
The horrors of my mind and soul confront me.
I am paralyzed by fear, a thousand spears,
held by enemies who seek my life in bloodlust.

What might I accomplish against such odds,
a man so weak as I?
How can I cross a desert so wide,
or scale this indomitable mountain?

My weakness invades my limbs.
Like a man infirm I tremble.
How can I succeed in such a task?
This quest is too much for me.

The Spirit of the Lord

But lo! What is this unconquered core?
This steady iron within, a firm foundation.
Though all is ash, embers live,
and catch at breath of air.

The Lord says unto me:
Who else is there to send?
You are my hands, my voice,
if you will not do this task, then who?

How could I not be with you?
I, who have given you every good thing?
Is it possible that I could leave you?
No, I shall never leave your side.

When the Lord speaks, I take courage.
I see now what must be done.
For if not me, then who?
Who will rise in answer to God’s call?

Therefore, I will put on buckler and shield.
With girded sword I shall take courage, be a man.
the fearsome, vile foes I will confront.
With the Lord in my right arm
I’ll strike them down.

Though fears dwell within and still beset me.
I laugh at fear, I scorn it.
For with God in me I’ll do all things,
with God, my core of steel.

Take up arms in face of fear and serve the Lord!

Adoring

during Eucharistic Adoration

Behold our God, disguised as bread.
Tis Christ our Lord, who once was dead,
Whose heart was pierced, who suffered, died,
with crown of thorns upon his head.

Creator of both earth and storm,
abides with us in hidden form.
For love's sake he remains with us,
oh let our hearts to his conform.

In this hour he whispers "watch with me"
and in this time, Lord, help us see,
what appears as piece of lowly bread
in truth our God in majesty.

What appears as simple grain
endured with love our bitter pain.
He loved us utmost to the end,
and showered us with grace like rain.

In this hour he offers rest,
respite from fears, life's trying test.
Come give him both your fears and joys,
come lay your head upon his breast.

Oh dearest friends let us adore,
the King of Heaven evermore.
Sit with him and adoring watch,
his love shall pierce us to the core.

Silent Shades

inspired by many a silent, otherworldly trip on the Metro

I saw a man
-at least, I think he was a man.
I thought my hand would pass through him like mist,
so unreal he seemed
as he hurried by me.

A woman too I saw
-at least, I think. I can't be sure.
With eyes unseeing she sat upon her seat.
An ethereal being
who shared the air with me.

Dozens, hundreds more I saw
-or did I? I truly think I did.
Compressed together in coffin cold, not speaking.
With inward looking eyes,
withdrawn into themselves.

The shades stood silent
-or were they real? I couldn't tell.
If real, then surely they would speak in love.
But they didn't.
Their companions they ignored.

The people stood aloof
-people? Perhaps, but if so, then only part.
Though close, so distant, contained within themselves.
Such tiny worlds,
a sight that breaks the heart.

High Tide

a poem inspired by Pickett's Charge at the Battle of Gettysburg

The gray ocean sits with quiet, murmuring echo.
Neath late sun rays the gathering storm soon o'er the fields will flow.
In shaded trees trees the tide's waves sit,
wait patient for the hour.
One final surge, a last attempt.
The fire in their eyes is lit.

From afar they've come, answering homeland's call.
From mountainside, from hill and vale, where leaves are bright in fall.
No fear now their faces show,
but stout are all their hearts.
Prepared to dash cross deadly beach,
this gray, undaunted flow.

And now the thunder, precursor to the gale
leaps between ocean and beach, a heavy iron hail.
From cannon mouth the lightning burst
is joined by rumbling blast.
Their faces set, the hour nears,
to march up that beach accursed.

Arrives the moment, the waves break from the shade
towards shorn up works on deadly beach, far from their sheltering glade.
Rifles reflect the daytime light,
the tide's pace, steady, sure.
As slowly up the beach it creeps,
to the ghastly, deadly, fight.

The storm in earnest breaks, opens the gates of Hell,
and faster now does surge the tide, lets forth a piercing yell.
The rifles spit a deadly rain,
the cannons belch forth death.
Undaunted the tide charges on,
across the blood soaked plain.

Diminished by the storm, the tide reaches it's peak,
a desperate struggle to break the stones, to drive them back they seek.
With angry clash the gray-clad tide,
breaks on stubborn stones of blue.
On stormy beach of blood and death,
like Titans they collide.

Fog clings to the beach, the sun choked off, estranged.
The wall of stones, now dimly seen, is standing still, unchanged.
It's anger gone, recedes the tide,
like gray ghosts giving way.
The bloody expanse it crosses 'gain,
where it waves were broke, and died.

The Sun's returned, light on the beach does play.
Covered now the mighty waves with faces hard and fey.
But that dark day was not their last,
nor are they now forgotten.
Still in our hearts they ever dwell,
who charged the cannon blast.

The Concrete Man

a poem inspired by a man I see sitting outside the metro every morning.

A man sits
on cold concrete.
His face is weary, weather-worn,
his jacket frayed and stained and torn,
but who cares?

The man blends
with stony ground.
They can't perceive who hurry past,
with lives of speed, hurried and fast.
So who sees?

The people rush
in hurried haste.
They pass the rock with mournful eyes
and journey on as passer-bys,
but who speaks?

And death descends
on this silent street.
Death in their silence, gives no word,
to neighbor's cry for love, unheard.
So who loves?

The King sits
within the man.
And as the sprinters rush and frown and fret,
it is their King that they neglect.
The King who loves.

The Call to Battle

Arise! Awake!
The battle cry has sounded!
Hear now the trumpet’s clarion calls,
that echo o’er mountain, field, and falls,
Let evil fly confounded!

To arms! To arms!
Our King has called us forth!
Commands us darkness to contest,
from East unto the utter West,
from South unto the North!

Tis Time! March forth!
Rise up, gird on thy sword.
As morning rays their glory sing,
let forth thy war cry, echoing.
Come, fight for King and Lord!

Stand firm! Hold fast!
Break now the shadowed flood!
For evil tides now seek to spill
o’er all the lands, to maim and kill.
Let’s thwart their lust for blood!

Forward! Press on!
The darkling shades now flee!
Pierce now the press with sharpened spear,
rise up in hope, abandon fear,
we shall drive them to their knees!

Onward! To Last!
We’ll fight the vile foe!
Though in battle we may fall to death,
we’ll give our King our every breath,
and his kingdom’s glory know!

The Red Candle

In every Church a candle red
marks the presence of it's living head.
It's flickering beam
and shining light,
stand eternal guard o'er transformed bread.

It whispers as you pass the the door
"Here dwells your Lord, come and adore"
It does not boast,
nor blaze with light,
yet this quiet flame says so much more.

These beacons faithful roles fulfill,
reminding that the Lord's there still.
Our sovereign King,
our friend and guide,
the mover of our heart and will.

This constant guard does never tire,
yet slowly dwindling does expire.
It surely sinks,
yet still fulfills,
it's purpose till it does retire.

As I ponder this flame's constancy,
such a faithful herald I long to be.
A weakling man,
I often fail,
on quests of truth and charity.

My light unlike the faithful guard,
trembles when my times are hard.
my fragile faith,
is quickly shattered,
like glass into a thousand shards.

I long with such ardent desire,
to burn unflinching like that fire.
What is my quest?
How shall I serve
the King who reigns in Heaven higher?

And when I reach at last the golden throne,
and stand before my God alone,
will my own life,
like candle red,
my Lord and God have faithfully shown?

Yet midst this life's uncertainty,
still full of hope I'll ever be.
My soul's flame
is Spirit lit,
the Spirit who conquers adversity.

The Spirit of God shall my faith ensure,
to burn like fire, strong and pure.
I'll do my task,
size matters not.
Like candle red, I shall be sure.