061824

I give you my world,
And You give me the universe.
I open my heart to You,
And You dwell within me.

I lift my hands to praise You
And You reign like a roaring thunder.
The galaxy belongs to You —
How tiny I am and yet you see me through.

My years are in the palm of Your hands—
Written by the blood of your Son…
Beloved and precious,
A King who’s always on the throne.

Your love remains steadfast,
Your grace is like the rain
Showering me every now and then
So my soul can dance with You.

I long to see You face to face
But I wait patiently
Before the curtains unveil the coming glory
And before I commit my spirit
And find its rest with You.

You've been my biggest fan, my ever-glowing, shining light
Showing me the way and how to do what's right
There are those that wonder, and ask me where I get my strength
I get my bravery from you, someone who would go to any length
I am the man I am because you taught me how to be
Without your love around, I do not think I could be me
These words may seem small, and they don't say what I want well
My gratefulness for you is something words could never tell
I thought I would try to write at least a couple bars
It is the least that I could do, for the woman made of stars
Whose heart has traveled galaxies; whose soul has traversed dimensions
I know that raising me was difficult, yet you always had the best intentions
Though the evenings may turn dark, there is always light in the dawn
No matter what happens, or where I may go, I am blessed to call you Mom
You say you love me to the moon and back, and I love you to Mars
Please consider this a birthday gift, to the woman made of stars

What am I beyond my industry?
Are we not building another Babel?
We babble on beyond comprehension, big-noting ourselves into oblivion,
in an attempt to reclaim the lost,
Our lost selves...
Could the career path lead us back to ourselves? Beyond ourselves?
To our true selves?
To be selfless, seeing others in loving kindness?

TELL TALE TALK

Shark’s tooth
draws blood

( even though long dead )

a startled red
against the sharp whiteness

lost in a bric-a-brac
box of shells & things.

“Gotcha!”
grins the dead

shark’s set of
choppers.

Baby shark
but a shark nonetheless.

I drip a trail
of red

across the Charity
shop

snap up
a tattered HUNTING OF THE SNARK

a battered
AT SWIM TWO BIRDS.

Here
a broken ballerina

on a jewellery box
( minus her music )

there
( I stop dead )

a used
soul

bruised
badly used

Godless
without guile

my fingertip traces my initials
on its dust

tarnished
without hope

immortal and unnoticed
amongst shark’s teeth & shells.

I get
a SNARK & TWO BIRDS

for a pound
a piece.

The shark’s grin
for a pound again.

“What do you want
for this old thing?”

I nonchalantly
ask

setting the soul
with great care

within the cage
of teeth

perched atop
the books.

“Being dying
to get rid

of that
for ages.”

“It just sits there
staring at me!”

“Scares the life
outta me

to tell you
the truth

even though I don’t know
what the hell it is!”

“Give us 42p for it
& we’ll call it quits!”

I buy back
the soul

( my soul )

I had given away
with some old shirts and shoes

things I thought
I wouldn’t ever be needing

. . .again.

But seeing it
discarded amongst shark’s teeth & shells

I thought
twice about it.

Maybe
( perhaps )

I can use
it

for a paperweight.

Or a doorstop.