Except for the Star
The travelers huddled in the cold night.
A lengthy journey almost at an end.
A journey fueled by hope
And threatened by the madness of a king.
They tired.
And often wondered whether their chase
Was real
Or if it was yet another means of
Squandered wealth.

Except for the star.

It was close.
Bethlehem was tomorrow's end.

Now the return.
The child had been all and more,
And their gifts were received in awe
As if they too were signs
Needed to assure of the offspring.
That was yesterday.
An event now just a memory
Taking on the unreal
Line of a tapestry that unfolded in a dream.

Except for the star.

The ages would tell and retell their story.
And many would believe.
And many would not believe.
What indeed would drive
Monarchs to live with camels under the sky
For but a glimpse of
A small boy?
Prophet's art is lost.
The hearkening of madmen.

Except for the star.
And except for the King.

Oh cross on the hill.
The body you bore today was as heavy as all time past and future.
And even now,
as it is lowered,
and you are left with the gore of saving grace,
the weight remains.

Oh cross on the hill.
You were but an instrument of a plan thought through in minute detail from time immemorial.
You played your role.
You bore your creator.
And because of your faithfulness and obedience to His call,
the hope of mankind became a living light for each of us.

Oh cross on the hill.
We will not forget too soon,
and we know not whose fate took them to you time and again to pay for their own sins.
And perhaps the stains themselves of the blood he left on your brow provided healing of body as it provides of soul.

Oh cross on the hill.
3 days have now passed,
and all who watched have heard of the wonders of this day;
Rejoiced in reunion with those who were dead just yesterday.
Your necessity as part of
The Great Plan
has been filled.
And with your cousin the stone
you may now rest.

Something
At the edge of thought.
More delicate than a dandelion seed
And more powerful than
The wind that blows it.

Somehow
I manage to run
While wanting
To stay
And act
Upon the restless order.

Someone
Beckoning.
Ceaselessly,
Continuously,
Lovingly,
Until at that moment
Preceded by millions
Without Substance,
I listen and hear.

what art befalls me?
what words express
or pictures show
or music rings
that deepest of the soul?
can it be told,
expressed,
or conveyed into your place
where feelings grow?
and if not,
is it lost
on the ears
of the universe?
or will the message of the medium through which it is driven
ring till the end
when only one
ear remains
to hear………
and does?

Yearning for significance!
The day to day struggle
of the carnal man.

Praising for completeness!
The eternal embrace
of the transformed soul.

"Sing a song,"
The master said,
"Before you don't
And wind up dead.
Sing a song And you will see
How happy, Sad, And young you be."

"What shall I sing?"
The singer asked,
"For up till now
Not one has tasked
To write that thing you call A song.
If none exists, I'll right that wrong."

And so to paper pen was put,
And rhyme appeared.
Of love,
And joy,
And dreams of what
Was yet to come.

"Tis half a song at best," He mused.
And then a breeze his mind did soothe,
And from his lips emerged a tune.
It was the first such sound
And soon
Was heard by all who ventured near
The singer.

And from that first song
Came the rest.
And through the time
Each one was best,
From singers who caressed the breeze
And gifted us,
Our souls to please.

The mouse lies
in my hand
dead.
and I stare
as I wonder what’s next,
here in the future
where input creates
and output destroys.
here in the future
where old men
once feared
and young men
didn’t see
until too late.
its fast,
its slow,
its young,
its old,
its here,
its gone,
here in the future.