Be the iron ore smelting in a crucible
Constantly being refined.
Ready to be molded into a mighty weapon.
Ready to be wielded in battle.
You possess a warm glow attracting.
And the lives that you touch
Burn along in love and
Melt along in awe of Glory.

Or

Be the brine drawn from the dark arctic depths,
With your cold pride
And salty apathy that leaves
Mouths and throats
Dry
And stirs bellies
To malfunction,
Then inaction.

But

Be not the stagnant puddle
Most toxic.
Reflecting heaven
But still clinging to the earth.
Collecting raindrops from the sky
Together with dirt from the soles of men.

For

Do not be lukewarm,
Neither hot nor cold,
For He will spit you out.

No matter what happens during the day,
I think about how I'll tell you.
And everything I do,
I want you to see.

I often think of how we walk.
My hand on your left side,
yours resting on my shoulders.

Or how we sit.
Two bottles of wine on the table.
We talk untill the tears are no longer able to wash away with alcohol.
And than you do not comfort me.
As you and I both know,
I find comfort in just being there
with you.

Sometimes I quickly think of you.
Sometimes in bed,
on a party,
always shortly in the kitchen.
And I know I won't be finished living,
untill there's someone loving me
the same amount I love you now.

horse tail clouds drifted
across the blue parchment sky
this dazzling spring day

maps don't exist for
the hardest routes,
instead only for those green diamond
lines playing over manuscript flat paper,
long like flutes extending out over and up
mountain ridges, down across narrow
beaches leading to fisherman rooftops
taking hits from the ocean in front.

We must make our own way lost,
ending up somewhere ill and icy,
dressed up in the frost in nothing but socks, unwashed
from the running, screaming grace from the
windowsills;
it's a place most won't meet, won't want to meet,
but will nevertheless greet with wide open, French patio door
arms.