I complain.  Its about the past that now is not
All the losses.  Wishes flowers that never bloomed.
People, things that I should have now.  I was good-
Good as I could be: Good at heart.  Am I at fault?
Then God shares this fault.  Certainly if anyone
Could have made it better it was not me.  I am
Unconvinced that I was able and you knew it.
So help me God.  Yesterdays gone so they say-
But is it really so when the consequences are
All around you in the absence of things hoped
So you go forward into the hollow land: Speak
Oh God to my misery.  Can you give me back
All the  times mourning love-the absence of the
Present perfect that was not to be even now-
What can ever be done that takes no account
Of the loneliness and sorrow, of years in desert
Places.  I have made argument with my own
Reason   that tells me it could be worse; Change
One piece and the tower falls.  Is this not the
Best of all possible worlds.  I hear the exhortations
Peace, Peace.  I give them myself.  But still I say
Make of this world a better place.  There are I
Say consequences to waiting.   There is wisdom
To resignation but do not faith and hope point
To something better- a place where Love will be
Always and Forever.  As the old woman said:
You call this living!  Where is the life I seek? It
Began in my yesterdays and a war I would not
Could not win without your help and so I do
Complain that your delay seems fatal to love
As Job said:  I spoke as I did because I knew
Not when you asked me where was I when
...?   Speak to me Oh Lord-That I may know.
Oh God to my misery.  Can you give me back?
All that I have lost?  Ask me that I may know.
Because I kew not I spoke as I did. Still I wait.

For a while we in a model seem to see
The whole-Then it is a fragment. a piece
Of ancient pottery, a bit of trash on its
Way to the dust from which it came.
Of such is the glory of poetry: A dancing
Girl-An old woman dying.  The bird of
Paradise that never was- the phoenix
Rising from the ashes so that we may
Know all is all.  Infinite is the pathos of
Our gladness no less glorious.  Slow ...
Time is our genius to be .  For a while.

There are many virtues but each is limited
Love excepted.  Look at freedom Perfect it
Cannot be for if it was it would be able to
Trample all in its fullest allowing-so with all
Other virtue  it is not perfect or can it be made
Perfect-Only Love is perfect and only by it can
We Be perfectly guided to know that which we
Must Know for the proper governance of our lives.

Know This:
Whatever your present circumstances are
Know this: You will get Better.  Better and
Better Spiritually, Physically.  There may
Seem to be set backs but all in this world
Is merely a stage as  the Bard has said:
Signifying nothing.  A prelude fortelling
A more perfect time to come.  This is true
For all beings always and never more than
At death' door.  Defects morall and physical
Mental and spiritual are but temporary
Platforms before our Rising -All worldly
Judgements are voided.  The judge, the
Hangman and all the worldly cohort are
Confounded.  Know this then at thy core.
Believe then at the darkest hour that you
Are Saved.  All the misbegotten, the lost
The slave. the thief, the lame, the  blind
The ***** all those judged unequal and
Unworthy shall be made whole-Come
Into the light sing and dance and Glorify
God in Heaven that they were saved by
Grace; Nothing defeats the God of Love
Perfecting Perfection still we become ever
Closer to the One who is able to Love
This Is Who You Are...

Enthralled by freedom; Enchanted by
Ourselves.  Beauty was its condiment to
Lionize all of which we were co-creators
Of  and thereby honor the majesty of play.
A wondrous thing layer upon layer
We wove an artificial world into a
Masterpiece fit for kings-it was so
Much greater than the world we
Knew, filled with inspiration, and
Rich in complexity, superbly colored.
It commanded stay here!  Live here!
It can be yours forever.  But it was
Not to be.  The afternoon grew late.
The dusk of evening covered us in
Shadows.  My friend or  was it I
Said: One more act then it is all
Complete and we never need leave.
Was it I or he that said no it all must
End-Mother and Father wait and
The table is set and our play is over.
The common place always brings
Us back and we remember our duty  
Is not to the enchanted land.  Did I
Or you stay on alone I do not know.
It is but a play and as the Bard has
Said Signifies nothing the characters
Like us return to dust with all their
Pomp and glory but still we  yearn to
Play again like Twain to dream a better
Dreams; for the plays the thing...and
Though  it must end still we hear its call
For Eternal youth is its long sought goal.
Indeed it is our duty to be born again.


For Mom & Dad