The plight of the poor,
The cry of the orphan,
The fear of the foreigner,
Exploiting anyone.
Weep not for Babylon,
Mistress of greed;
Weep for her people,
Who took no heed.
Recommended reading: Proverbs 14:30, 27:4, Colossians 2:2-3,
Ephesians 1:18, and for good measure, so many more.
For jealousy I tossed away the crown,
And trampled it ‘neath the feet.
For jealousy I ripped the cloak apart,
And tatters blow down the street.
For jealousy I bitterly wept and gnashed and screamed,
And mourned and loathed and cried.
For jealousy I cursed the empty skies,
And knew, “I should have died.”
For jealously my gaze would follow,
My terrible destruction,
A fellow all my equal,
But for my mind’s dysfunction.
For jealousy I lost my clothes,
My gold, my joy, my self.
For jealousy I lost my soul…
Because I forgot my wealth.
Swiftly, though the tempest spins,
and deep within it boils.
Thick, the skin of earthy jail,
escape still cruelly foils.
Filled, with all of life and love,
exuberant feelings tole.
Hearts, will only burst,
the aneurism of our soul.
Started in 2008 after dreaming of my grandfather, the poem remained unfinished at just two stanzas until his death on May 12th, 2011. After writing two more stanzas, it was recorded late the night before the funeral and played during the service. Forgive the roughness, I’m not the greatest musician! Instruments include neck-style dulcimer and irish whistle.
Hello my weeping daughter,
hello my bright eyed sons…
Fear not for I am just travelling,
to see beyond the sun.
Long have I walked these pastures,
to work and weathered hands…
And now to go before you,
to tread the golden lands.
Torn back, the sky has faded,
but light has only grown…
All shadows run and flee,
before the fire-ry throne.
Though mourning me, my lass,
and time is slow to pass…
Spring rain has washed the land,
and I, by the blood of the Lamb.
Hello my weeping daughter,
hello my bright eyed sons…
Fear not for I am just travelling,
to see beyond the sun.
Do not let me be,
too late by your side,
running past the shoes,
you hastily cast aside.
Stuttering on the cobblestones,
stumbling through the naked streets,
mind entangled like your legs,
frantic thoughts in feverish heats.
Do not let me be,
too late by your side,
slipping on the blood,
as stone and feet collide.
And there along a cliff I see,
your soul all worn, and deathly wet.
the wind drops silent, like the birds,
as time falters, broken, unset.
Do not let me be,
too late by your side,
to hold and caress,
and hope that you see…
I take no account,
of a long, sordid past,
when I call in the street,
to a far humbler caste.
You were standing in the market,
when you heard someone calling,
an account you couldn’t settle,
and the awful darkness swelling.
(and so you ran)
Do not let me be,
too late by your side,
to hold and caress,
and hope to provide…
Long have I walked these pastures,
to work and weathered hands…
And now to go before you,
to tread the golden lands.
And the artifice is gone, and nothing is all that’s left…
I miss not having gone to church with you,
and an afternoon nap where we didn’t have to say a word…
I miss seeing your sleeping form,
as I stay up late polishing a project and smiling to myself…
I miss never knowing the closeness,
that you and I have needed so much…
And being alone now makes it clear, that being surrounded isn’t the same, as being near you…
I miss listening to music,
and dancing to a song that makes me want to cry…
I miss the things we might have done,
the places we could have gone, the food we would have eaten…
I miss you, and wonder…
will you ever miss me?