Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Winter Mercy

The snow is the primer
The sun is the paint
Black shadows made finer
By an orange so faint

A roof of cascading prisms
Reaches desperately below
We slow to earth's rhythm
We capture the snow

Crisp branches hold hoarfrost
Before unspeakable blue
In my waking got lost
Dreamed I'd realized You:

Never left me
But loved me
And woke me
To the truth

A season forsaken
But a horizon so bright
Though I've been so mistaken
Your Son made me right

Looking straight as heaven
Sends light winter mercy
Grace flutters down
And the Maker loves me

It's quarter past seven
And I simply must know:
Can I shadow this rhythm?
May I capture this snow?

Never leave me
But hold me
And warm me
To the truth

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

To The So Called Lover of Nature

"Trodden pathways scar the snow's fall"
The nature lover tells all.
"Pristine and untouched!"
Her motto she calls.

But what comes to my mind
is a graver image still:
A world more ugly
than the purist can tell.

No pathways at all;
no imprints, no fall.
The ommission of humans;
the worst possibility of all.

Only five days then nothing;
no image, no mess.
With no like or dislikeness
no redemption, no rest.

While it certainly could be better,
it could be worse my dear one.
What sadder path can there be
than the one untrampled on?