The Hymn

The Hymn                                         December 7, 2016
Praise be to God!
For You snatch me from my enemy’s hands
The hands that trickle time
Like time belongs to them
and God does not turn the seasons
The hands that manipulate love
Like love does not belong to God.

Praise be to God!
The Lord of Time
The Lender of Love.

Oh God, if it please you
Let time
and love
Be holy gifts to me.

Oh God, if it please you
Bless me with nothing but now
And a heart that is always here.

Praise be to God!
Who teaches me to cherish
this moment of misery!

Praise be to God!
Who breaks my heart
so it may hold more!

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the poem comment deleted

the poem comment deleted               December 7, 2016
how funny that you erase your dreams
just to remove my poems

you dream of love
while it is winter in new mexico i write of

what must it be to be free
to dream of love?
you know nothing of
the shackles of duty
or the winter’s wind in this high
northern desert with the perpetual sigh
of a woman’s memory

today i write poetry
secure in the knowledge
that even the empire
cannot censor me

you delete your dream
just to erase my poetry

do my words burn
like the skin of my hands
cracked by december in albuquerque
and oozing dictionaries
of blood?

how small a dream is
if it cannot bear to be seen
by the eyes of woman and God

i will not go down in history
silently and shamefully

you may erase me
the department of security
may dump my body

but my blood will write poems in the wind
and blow them to the ears of my Friend
and God who will never forget me

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the poet replies to a dreamer

the poet replies to a dreamer          December 6, 2016
no, no, my love
don’t dream of love
for you stand in the presence
of God above

and what are dreams made of
but hot wind and screams?

while you dream you sleep
but to love you must wake
and love is like the garden
what you sow is what you reap
what you give is what you keep

no, no, my love
don’t dream of love
if you live in the presence
of God above

dreams are but winding roads
merely illusions of gardens and streams

while you dream of love you forget
what it means to live in love
for, my love, i know
you are so busy dreaming
you have forgotten me

what good is your fantasy
if you are too proud, too busy
to love in reality?

no, no, my love
don’t dream of love
while time slips like grains of sand
through idle hands

for if you wanted love
you would earn my love
you spend your time in dreams
ignoring the duties you speak of

you are drunk on your dreams
if you dream of love
but your lover
hasn’t heard your voice
nor seen your face
in long months

time slips like grains of sand
through your idle hands
what is this love you dream of
but do nothing to show proof of?

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