photos

I lurked about the Internet
And found an image writing God
As if it thought (they) never met,
And I suppose that's not so odd.
It does take two for one to meet
The second who withstands the heat
Of constant cries of "Father, why?"
Its text then questioned, "Should I try?"
With speed the Web can link a hymn
Today and glorify some names
Despite a prosecutor's flames.
Remember how they l(a)beled Him?
"Dear Lord," was the Book's address.
"We're grateful for the printing press."

And tablets wound up crushed to dust?
And later ink that pooled in wells?
Quite often media we trust
When AC/DC, not Hell's Bells,
Falls out of fashion with new toys.
Which brings me here dear girls and boys.
I'm certain I don't know your hoo
From your ha-ha-ha's nor what who
The Holy Ghosts prefer should they
Decide they need to make a date;
If unrequited loves create;
So, far be it from me to say
If what was written was received
That's between it and what's perceived.

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Who you are remains the same for me:
A whisper, "Hush, the garden grows,"
Gives hope and offers dreams to be;
The fruit alleviates my woes,
Your softened tones assuage my fears,
Interpretations strike the seers,
But am I one of sev'ral here?
If so, you tickle just an ear
And we are not alone at all
And we should love the company
Not ruin it with jealousy;
Else why continue with this call
To dedicate my love to you
And strive to emulate what's true?

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The core contains what holds what sheds
A place unknown to where its loss
Will never be a one who treads
Along a line drawn straight across
Instead the ups-and-downs or downs-
And-ups transmitting shaky sounds
Materialize with the time
How could this be a thought of crime
Creating worlds distinguished from
The shells we’ve found without their tongues?
We’re looking for the hidden lungs
Until they’re found then we stay dumb?
Perhaps the reason energy
In darkness is to be what’s free.

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Contempt and cynicism rage
On Earth, but here our attitudes
Contain themselves within the page;
Who says I must have taken ‘ludes?
The person comes from my own mind.
The other help I have is kind.
Like Satan left, the angel right,
It’s you again who stays polite.
I dare not brag but will record,
Unwind the watch for life (is short);
Remember how the clocks report?
Perhaps he¹ wrote when he was bored,
And never solely for his man.
I, too, write only when I can.

In death I’ll write no more (rejoice!);
If you should be the first to die,
I’ll suffer selfishly -- no choice.
It happens -- grief. To say good bye
To hope and memories anew
Becomes the worst of loss, and blue
Will color life like red does hate;
It’s why we fight against our fate.
I don’t have easy answers here.
I think of you and passion burns.
I screw this up, the world still turns.
I keep this simply for what’s clear:
I might be joking but I care.
I laugh because how pain’s not fair.

¹W.H. Auden