the anger and anguish behind
blind eyes, outcries,
the aching
iniquities to bare,
the feathered yoke born
world torn, cloth draped face
with nothing but love,
now it seems that thou hast been,
and are all I have seen,
but that the last dead leaves
fell, simply .
softly, with the fruit of our sins,
our choosing and our choices.
hear me now, oh Lord,
with the echoes of the lost and lonely.
with the friendless faceless homeless voices.
for what have we?
if we still have much to give?
we pass by unforgiving,
with our cast gazes.
with the same hands and hearts,
the same that fail to cast our pennies.
we pass by unforgiving,
just as we have been forgiven.
even if the sphere,
our feet nailed to its existence,
has rolled like a marble into the valley,
where the shadow of death looms,
its time now and approaching.
let it not be evil we would fear i pray,
but let us fear for lack of justice,
absence of love, mercy, grace .
let now your colors seep.
through and out this old painting,
this new art that is life .
strokes of brush,
laying new shades unknown to man .
paint us a revelation, revolution
movement .
we the seekers of shalom,
unveiling love beneath the black and white,
the dark canvas will bleed life’s colors.
this is painted faith.
for there is no means of paling out the darkness,
the flood and sinker of our ships,
the flutter and flash and flicker of what is to end,
when what is to, comes.
there is only pointing to the lamp and light that exists,
to reveal the truths of blue and yellow, and red,
and the mixing of the 3 .
but Lord most high, most reveal that that is red.
that that is read,
the speech and spoken word of a father, a profit,
rabbi, teacher, mystic, lover of those in need of a,
savior.
the red letters of our, my, your,
savior.
even now there are tears behind those eyes,
and smoke simmers behind and underneath hearts on fire.
what ever this may be,
this may seem to be just a scratch and a scrape,
on a surface, it may be.
healing hems, a teachers tassels,
lead me to believe and feel .
surface scraping, scratching,
it is, and must be enough .
Lord let us keep at your door and knock,
answer for seekers .
but better is one day in your courts,
a shield in walking, sunlight, just drops for the blameless.
and the tents of the wicked among us,
let us not dwell among the many.
may we become
in tune .
hear your song,
the rhythm seeping through our streams,
of blood and our dry bones.
the more i see these black and whites,
these gray smudges which only for a moment capture emotion,
but in seconds speak those thousand words.
a thousand more than i have to give,
meaning to it all .
i pray it rains thought and truth that ripple the stagnant pools of this place.
i pray that you move .
