Whatever this body does,
wherever this mind may roam,
my heart will always sing one song, Lord,
"You alone are my home."

Beloved One, my soul's delight,
my life, my joy, my all,
I'll listen for your silent voice,
and I'll answer to your call.
I'll listen for your silent voice,
and I'll answer to your call.

Stealing hours from jealous time,
surreptitiously I write.
If that theft's criminal, then I'm
as good as busted every night.
Life rolls on; work, marriage, sleep.
Each busy day renews the fight
to find a quiet time to keep
unto myself; not out of spite
or hiding out from jaded eyes,
but understand my place aright;
at peace with all that might arise,
to see life through my Spirit's sight.
I gift myself the time I stole
to mend the patchwork of my soul.

The universe loves
being loved and love's echoes
ripple through being.

Where is Spring?
These barren, bony branches
pluck the sun
from my sky.

I mocked depression--
now
it mocks me:
endless gray skies
pour rain,
rain,
rain.

Go ahead, rain!
Tear the blossoms
from the trees,
bury their color
in the mud,
wash them
away,
away,
away.

I don't care anymore--
My eyes are turning gray.

I make a steady effort
to keep reducing my life.
I've unraveled it's tapestry
into a skein of loose threads.
I'm down to the last one,
it's getting thinner.

I used to have
a wife, a business,
a family, a community,
but that's all gone now:
the marriage was a lie,
the business was killing me,
the community was a cult.

So I cut it all away.
Now all I have left is
a few old friends,
a fistful of poems,
my old guitar,
this big truck I live and work in,
and a couple of kids whom I love.

Not much of a legacy
for a lifetime.
But I take satisfaction in this:
there are no lies in it.

I'm nobody's jailer,
I'm nobody's prisoner.

I make an honest living,
take comfort where I can,
love my kids with all that's in me.

I keep heading down the road,
one step ahead of the reaper.
So far, so good.