Lord Bring Me Back- A Lord's Prayer

 

 

~ Lord Bring Me Back ~

 

 

Dear Lord,

Please help me, because I weary,

I cannot make peace with my soul and whole-

Spirit aches, is sinking in the dark land-

Which envelops me softly, and I feel-

So very strongly, as I place my feet into the holes,

Of this little crater beneath my squeezed toes,

Seeking a better life at hand,

Looking for a light which is before me,

Wrenching myself from the holes that my feet,

Grasp onto, perhaps in fear even though,

I do not wish to undermine its strength,

Because it is strenuous an effort really,

For me to attempt in gaining,

Any kind of leverage over its hilt-

Dear Lord, I do not mean to complain of it.

But it has become so difficult for me to feel,

Except for the intense pain of harsh realities-

Which sinks me into this deep dark hole.

And yet, I know that there is dear hope,

That rests with in little white lilies,

Gold tendrils and pretty pink rays,

Along the evening sun rests,

Opposite from where I lay,

In my entrenchment, upon the moon,

Buried so I cannot find it.

I know that you can pull me up, Oh Lord my God,

Because there is a way to hear the angel’s throng,

They lace along the bends and cast,

A molten glow upon the lava,

That sifts and moats through various lengths,

Of pretty delicacy and marked songs of joy

Just below the soft folds,

Of bluest measure and sky's yarn,

Casting light upon this pretty boat.

Oh please Lord, if it would be your will-

Rescue me from the danger of disgrace,

Inability to avert my eyes from here,

Since I really am not a cut for this moon.

I want to be free and I want to live Lord-

But how can I do this,

Without the necessity,

That you My Lord can bring to me?

I need your staple for my food,

I need your strength to wrap my arms,

in these lovely sinews,

Feverish body a strong pine bough bending,

Treacherous weather and this is only,

A feverish effort on mine,

For my tired body . . .

Is like a breaking trough, 

bending beneath strong weight,

The labor making it hot and sweat-tinged,

Or like a tree with its bough unhinged.

Of course,

Trees don’t grow on the moon Lord-

Nor do I have your sunlight to ease pain,

But I beg of you to please,

Help me to ease this cruel pain,

And come back into your fold,

Your precious unyielding images,

Of love and nourishment,

So that I might view the sunlight-

Help me, help me to come back, touch me, let-

Your smile and kind eyes shine over me-

And smooth my feverish hair away . . .

 from my forehead.

I need you to bring me back,

Please carry me to your world so that I may never again leave it,

Never to come back here,

To this dark moon and its crater ~

Gentle Glow to Leave Us

~ Fall is coming eventually for all of us, but it doesn't have to be all dark and bleakly frigid- if we just listen to what is really important~

~ Gentle Glow to Leave Us ~

The exquisite eyes can see,

And the blue-bells, with their meritable dress,

That speaks to my incarnate measures,

While gracing beneath the sun,

Immeasurable lust kept glowing-

For the eye’s pleasure . . . 

And a refreshed soul that now,

Allowed itself to,

Flourish enriched with the,

Gentle swell of the sunlight,

That softly skate upon its leaves,

And the bluebells sweet vision-

A structure that had been,

And a soft re-birthing,

Of the life which it desperately sought,

As its leaves changed,

And it began to wither,

To deconstruct itself with weather-

Giving its gentle glow to leave,

So that one again might yet see-

Its love at the next spring's harvest.

The Women Expatriates

 

The Women Expatriates ~

It was with a lust,

That he sought her,

Dazzling snow-woman who gave

To him herself a swift darling,

Which cast deeply entrenched need,

Inner glow he had set aflame,

Swept the harshness from his eyes,

Removing the façade adorning-

And promptly glorified his dark thoughts,

Sparking the heart and crafting,

Of his black heart a fire-tinged gem . . .

 

One that is much nicer than,

The frigid expatriate-

When she removes her cool, aloof Autumn, 

and becomes a Winter jewel-brightened, 

Causing him to glance at her-

The swift, graceful soul which

He could but dance with-

Whose soft glances tore him away,

From all of his worries,

His heart must sing loudly as she,

Hones a navigational glow,

The arch of Winter’s hems gliding as she,

Fully turns her dress to its good side,

Her eyes no longer frigid.

 

Haply though, in the cold wind,

He loses all his directional senses as,

She removes from him the jaded ties-

The illusions of the terrible Autumn,

Glacial drifts within that month,

Takes them so neatly away,

With a beautiful dress of whiteness luring,

Grasping on his sense of chivalry ~

 

His eyes will see,

Senses will perceive also-

Touching upon the art of sheer grace,

That now rests in the small foothills of his soul,

Whispering nothings in his ear through,

Mother Nature when she provides,

A renewed, refreshed understanding . . .

And guiding him back to his home,

Of womanly characteristics and love,

When spirit of mother and young woman,

Gently touch his darkened soul,

Removing their former crassness,

Soothing it with love and nourishment ~