Soul (Relit)

February 15, 2011

Soul is hurtling to the stars
with her she’ll bring back
their bright light
in a basket wove
of rays of ancient moons

Soul is a door with no latch
sleeping till a sacred blade
sets her free
from her stone halls
dim with fading daylight

Soul is leaping from the walls
of her castle down
to the sea
the stars had no light to steal
the only sword is a murderer’s

Soul is my glow in the sky
she is my edge
she has no need for these things
soul is mine and I’ll keep her.


A song by a would-be hero
who trusted that it would all come round
to him
that he could save;
wrest pain from a hurting wound.
and it worked out.
just not with the one he’d seen
in the seeing stone
but in another, fought for, stolen,
given freely, unasked.
didn’t fix a thing, heal much at all,
but found
my rest along the way.


Shades (relit)

February 12, 2011

Shades dance with the rising moon.
twinkles of light adorn the skies,
winking eternity in blue-white eyes.

The wind blows in the trees a tune,
sings a sonnet to the silence
this is the peace of slumber
of bliss, of secret rest.

No haven wakes to foe and fire
this hour beneath the heavens.
and it is invaded only
in whispering, “I love thee…”
an echo amongst the leaves.

This one, this sacred weave
rejoins our souls’ tatters,
touches, heals our sighing.
When has not night left her mark?


She Delights Me

February 11, 2011

She delights me
To wake
Take breath
Light upon life

With her

Tho time tears down mountains
Brings paradise to dust
Bares all my infirmity
She surpasses
And I am delighted

With her

She begins

With me

Tho pride fells my honor
My faithfulness wanes
My love turns to abandon
She withstands
And I am delighted

With her

She brings
Peace here
Grace here
The rest

Of me
With her


There was no covenant when we joined.
God was not with us.
Then Christ came true
And changed everything.
Now when I fail
It’s not all done.
For He is delighted in me
And so I may delight in my beloved.

Now when she touches me, it’s a gift.
When she’s patient with me, it is God’s mercy.
Now when she speaks to me, it is grace.
When she forgives me, it’s perfect.

I’m so grateful, as only unworthy I am.
That she was given to me.
I would write this for her every day of my life.
But I’m too busy with me.
So I’ll repent every all the time.
And keep these for her when I don’t.