Don't be discouraged
Its hard to take courage
In a world full of rage
Shining through
True beautiful thoughts
Against hearts so darked.

(Loosely based on prayers from The Canadian Book of Common Prayer. 1962)

Almighty God, creator of Heaven and Earth,
You who sustains all things in all ways;
Send to me Your Holy Spirit that I may
always feel Your presence around me.
Guide me in all things, especially so at
this time of suffering. Father of all, I
commend my immortal soul to You.
Wrap it in Your arms and let me feel
your eternal love always within me.
In times when I feel strained and weak,
send strength to me. Sustain my heart
so that it beats only in Your solace.
Gracious Father, in so many ways
I have consumed myself with the
desires of the flesh; forgetting that
these are but transient pleasures
that will not elicit eternal salvation.
Almighty God, to whom all hearts
are open, all desires known: Cleanse
my thoughts from sin by the power
of Your inspiration. Create in me,
through Your holy name, the
understanding to see You are
always with me, at all times and
in all situations. I commend myself
always to You, through Christ our Lord.

I'm a wounded chalice, filled with thoughts
of redemption; of forgiveness within.
Roaming through my failing happiness
like a whisper from a winter's icy wind.

My thoughts have turned to daze long ago,
when I felt as pure and innocent as an infant.
Remembering the desires held like crystal;
delicate glass which shatters in an instant

Tears won't come, I am too deeply ingrained
into the mindset that big boys never cry.
Instead, I close down my emotional valves,
letting my despair come out in a silent sigh.

I would, if I could, embrace a dangling hope
of glowing rainbows filtered through my rain.
Letting the whisking whispers of contentment
filter like diamonds into my emotional plain.

It is not meant to be, that I now see; for instead
the undertaker will measure my containment.
The drooping silence will become my friend,
and I shall enter into a rusted sense of spent.

I have nothing left to offer, no words which may
bring anyone a ******* of beggared desires.
Though my body like a knife, pleads for release,
I shall instead build myself a black funeral pyre.

I'm dying,
Feeling the comforting cloud of death
doing flip-flops through my strain.
Energy bursts are useless attempts
     at frosting flakes of panic and regrets.
Slipping.
Forgetting.
Curt instructions from a dangerous smile.

Cloud of death. Your mysterious tension
        caresses every
        blood-vein in my body.
My lungs restrict,
my lungs constrict.
Empty shallow boxes
      filled with the nothing of
        resistance.

Can’t anyone see? Does anybody know?

Does
    anybody
     have the
      slightest idea
       of just how
        tiresome
         paying
          attention
           can be?

So let me go. So leave me alone.
Let the fibres of believing unravel,
        slip apart
        like
        cracked glass
          about to
          shatter.
I'm hurting.
Disillusioned membranes zoning into silence.
The self-illusion so palpable and strong.
Hope
      is for people
             who have
                   flowers to grow.

I'm buying knick-knacks
to bring to Heaven.
Odds and ends to
comfort me
when I cross over.
Little things to
remind me
of living
on this planet.

I'm packing mementos
to bring to Heaven.
Small things
that will remind me
of everyone
I knew on earth.
Articles of
collectibles
that I can hold
or look at
when
I miss them.

Feet are walking,
albeit slower,
to the door that
leads to release.
The bright light
I've heard about
will be shining
for me.

Maybe I'll be
like a toss of smoke?
Able to watch
the final performance.
Check out
who bought tickets
and
who
declined to attend.
Flicker around
the homes and places
where my loved ones
live their days.

Will I be able
to touch them?
This I do not know.
If so,
I'll stroke
cheeks with fondness,
informing them
of how I valued
them in my
physical form.

I wonder if
I will find
knick-knacks of me
in their
hearts?

A poem based on Genesis 3:19

For dust you are; and unto dust you shall return.
A stack of dirt, neatly covered and withdrawn.
A hole, open and measured to conform to the box.
Mourners praying, intoning sacred, helpful words.
The priest makes the sign of the cross, voice strong.
The ritual is over, the people are invited to depart.

The hole, not quite empty anymore, is alone.
The workers fill it with the dirt, as they will.

The silence of the cemetery, the lull of natures' whispers
Plastic flowers placed on monuments of cold stone.

In the sweat of your face, until returned to the ground,
you will step in determination towards the coming end.
For every man and every woman, it will be the same.
Rich or poor, strong or weak, the grave is no different.
Repeated daily in every land upon this blue globe,
holy messages of comfort and solace are intoned.

A lone bird, sitting casually upon an old tombstone.
It fixes glances at the grass, perhaps seeking a meal?
It does not realize the shadows loitered in the ground.
Nor would it care, even if it could somehow be aware.
Nature is its own master of every creature, like the bird.
For dust you are; and unto dust you shall return.

Swiftly the lungs expand,
filled
         with
                 air
                     of resistance.
Stand ready to succeed!
A death sentence
is
   a
     guess.
It
is
    an
        estimation.
God alone knows truth.
It is His will that decides.
Some days are better
                      than others.
Like an adventure
where
          we
              never
                       know
the end results.
Regardless of the day,
it
   is
     the
          only
                one
                      to
                         have.
Jesus taught us to
live for today,
to
   leave
          yesterday
                      behind.
To ignore
             the
                 worries
                      of tomorrow.
Each day has its own concerns.
Enough to occupy the thoughts.
I will
       stay
            focused
                        on the
                                 gifts
                                      of today.
Thank you Lord,
                       for the gift of life.
And
      if
        this
              is
                 my
                      last
                           day,
so be it. I end with the
                                     peace
                                             to be
                                                found
only in the comfort of God's love.

My heart weeps in harmony with your sighs.
Eyes wandering over the rain of disillusionment.
That is what we are left with, these cold tears.

Cold tears that freeze into poignant memories.
Years have flown by, some fast, some slow.
A long time of collecting sleeping lazy dreams.

Lazy dreams that filter through me as I sleep.
Crazy thoughts that go nowhere, do nothing.
Yesterday is lost, it is never to embrace us again.

Embrace us again, that sometimes arises within.
I slip into those types of thoughts, pleasing me.
But these are temporary visions, impossible now.

Impossible now, that is the reality we now are.
Tenderly we see one another, such a passion.
Your heart beats and it reaches out to my heart.

My heart weeps in harmony with your sighs.
Eyes wandering over the rain of disillusionment.
That is what we are left with, these cold tears.