As a child I earnestly asked my father
Is it true that no matter how much one
Knows; how many ways we try we or
How hard we cannot get to heaven or
Realize the greatest good without he;p
Help that must come from God.  We, my
Mom and dad were sitting around a table
It was nearly dark as before a storm or 6pm
On a winter's eve.  Before he could speak
Suddenly some strange foreigners came to
Our table babbling questions seeking for
directions completely interrupting my hope
Of an answer to my question.  My father did
Not get to answer me.  I guess I really only
Wanted confirmation but it left me feeling in-
Complete.  Later much later he told me to
Write it all down and I would understand.

the present is almost over.  Always
But the past just keeps on keeping on
You have to have to have a few years
Under your belt when decades more than
A few can seem like only yesterday and
You know a lot of water has past under the
Old bridge...
  Little children have grown up
Their children too but their play stays in
Your mind long after they have left home
In life's great theater passions we have known
Tears have been shed and so many things and so
Many curtains have come down and we have been
Left alone to know always knowng it was yesterday
Only yesterday we were on the stage in a gay
Charade or a stranger walking alone in the rain
We knew and didn't know that it would all go away
Like water under the old bridge  to come again to
Wake up our hearts  like a long lost love-kismet

Play is the animating Spirit of creation where it ends
No body knows but God has called it good....
.

There is a saying who's source I forget
"Justice delayed is not justice."  Justice
Is swift.  Swift to repent for it is at it's
Source close to  the Divine; as Love  is
Outraged at cruelty  So it is equally swift
To recognize none is righteous but all
Fall short and the judge offends in a way
Like to  him whom gave offense -lacking
Understanding and compassion; failing
In the commandment that we love one
Another even as we love  ourselves; and
So obeying God.  Our better angels know
Repentance and are swift to obey that the
Peace that is heaven's be for us'on earth.

Love is like a fire
It know no shame
Its fuel is dried out
Virtue.  Yet let us not
Cry for they  shall
Come again sweeter
More tenderly than
Before.  From out
The charred ground
Sweetened by the ash
Of what was burned
The loveliness of God
Restored to its origins

Though she is young she is beautiful
It cannot be a sin to love and I love her
But I can say nothing and there is only
That one time that one moment that was
Ours when our gazes locked in the yard. 
Not a hundred feet  Yet  it is some sixty-
Plus years now  and still I know its true
That I love her still, will desire her forever.  
And never be able to let her go.  Yet I cannot
Say her name for she is not her name.  She
Who is forever is too beautiful for a name
That  i can say for feat this love   be shamed
It was close to where the old apple tree stood



Suncrest Memories

Too long  have been obsessed with  this
Riddle.  I must let it go that things are
Not as they seem .neiher this nor that..
I cannot sing my song and think about
This riddle that is not a riddle at all but
Simply the way things are and are not

The accuser gets snuffed out in death
For he had no roots in life is not one in
Our birth but appears unbidden from
Nothingness rejected and then abhorred.
How canst thou repent of  thy innocence
Tell me is it for vain glory we seek to know
When unknowing is the counterpoint of all
The sheltering caress that cradles our youth
To which we  must return to renew our life