Poetry

Three Strikes

/ Brian / 3 Comments


I wanted you to give me back my self
the way the sun gives itself back
to this strangled city at dawn.
The way spring replaces winter,
I wanted you to replace
darkness with light,
dreams with waking,
death with life.
I wanted you to do God’s work.

Then God said: Let him be alone again.
And I was alone.

Three strikes. Nine innings. Three outs.
You did what you had to do.
We all do. For instance,
I am compelled to keep breathing.
I can’t do a damn thing about it.
The body bleeds, the heart beats,
and the song plays on
for those with ears to hear it.
We used to dance through our fears
to the pulse of that song.

I wanted to hear our bodies sing
until my ears could hear no more.
Now some other man will stand astonished
at your choosing him. His ears will open
as you call him into union
with you, with himself, and with Life.
But knowing this truth is no knife to my heart.
I want you to be some man’s beloved wife.

When this prayer reaches you,
forgive me, as I forgive you,
as God forgives us both,
we who know not what we do.


What Is Here

/ Brian / 4 Comments

What does it mean to awaken?
My body woke from sleep this morning,
but that’s all.

My body woke, stripped of desire
for a darker awakening. Clothed itself
in the heavy garments of sleep.

My physical eyes opened.
The eyes of my heart stayed shut.
Surely, this is not all there is.

But this is all that’s here.
Be with what is here.
See what happens.

Dress Rehearsal

/ Brian / Leave a comment

Hours upon hours of rest do not resurrect the soul.
Waking hours degrade the dignity of their name.
Only the eyelids, by force of dying will, stay open.

You think: opening night cannot come soon enough.
You’re pretty sure you know your part,
but the director says no, keep working.

If these nights are a dress rehearsal for death,
then maybe by show time you’ll be ready.
Maybe you’ll have memorized the whole play.

Maybe you’ll have learned to respect the curtain,
and though planted on the dark stage until the end,
you’ll be granted the will to begin your work again.

Dress Rehearsal

/ Brian / Leave a comment 
Hours upon hours of rest do not resurrect the soul.
Waking hours degrade the dignity of their name.
Only the eyelids, by force of dying will, stay open.

You think: opening night cannot come soon enough.
You’re pretty sure you know your part,
but the director says no, keep working.

If these nights are a dress rehearsal for death,
then maybe by show time you’ll be ready.
Maybe you’ll have memorized the whole play.

Maybe you’ll have learned to respect the curtain,
and though planted on the dark stage until the end,
you’ll be granted the will to begin your work again.

Help Is On The Way

/ Brian / 2 Comments 
Help me to hear the song
brokenness sings
on its way to hope.

Help me to grasp the hand
loneliness offers
on its way to union.

Help me to trust the tears 
loss releases 
on its way to peace.

Help me to be the tunnel 
grief travels 
on its way to love.