An Instrument
he prayed to be
who lived among the rocks and trees,
rejoicing in
the mystery
forever etched
in eternity.
He denied
his life
for the love of Christ,
and if we follow
his holy ways
our faith will flower
all our days
yielding blooms
of peace and love,
patience and hope,
joy and light,
grant us
St. Francis
your divine insight.

Where life's pulse
is counted
and love is stored,
where passions motives
are continually implored,
where we question our purpose
to breathe and be
and explore the depths
of eternity,
where faith, belief
and conviction start,
the Father, Son
and the Sacred Heart.

Do you look
or do you see

the ocean waves
or majesty?

the cloudless sky
or heaven's sigh?

the children play
or hope for the day?

the cocoon's spin
or the promise within?

the flames higher
or the will to aspire?

the stars bright
or dreams that ignite?

If we see
with heart and soul
what can be
our lives unfold
our stories told  

that's harmony.

Hope
that
warms me
comforts
cradles
everywhere
my sight can see,
hope
that
wakes me
mornings
leading
present
everywhere
I want to be,
hope
that
keeps me
focused
joyful
ever knowing
faith has
set me free.

Death is not optional
not a strain to see
yet life amid the rumbles
begs a difference, obviously.

the destiny of one
mimics that of all,
do not celebrate the risings
before remembering the fall.

We write
so many words
that inspire, encourage or
simply adorn,
because the rawest emotion
from the day we are born
is suffering and pain,
the lost soul in a storm.

Our words, if you will
can soothe the downtrodden
strengthen the wayward
place peace in our sight
give hope and heal
therefore,
we write.