Fast falling rain and
rumbling thunder.
A healing refrain,
a sky torn 'sunder.

Great are the clouds
that heal the land.
The Lord's great blessing
for fields of Man

I tried to live a perfect life,
but soon I came to see
that no human is flawless,
and few are worse than me.
I climbed the highest mountain,
I met you at the top,
we sang as stars were shining,
and I never wished to stop.
That is the brightest moment
I'll remember when I'm gone:
not at all a holy night,
but such a special one.

and he may not be pure- but I swear his love’s so holy I find redemption in his eyes

dancing jewels of deflowered dawns,
how can I place your kiss into the tissues of my moaning soul?
the altar of your divine touch breaks the bounds of human intellect, kiss me at once and I shall break the dough of Heaven into a thousand brooks of boons,
furl the ribbon of honey light around my groaning kiss of life.

Let us remember today how much
God has loved us all.
And let us remember today
why Jesus Christ was born.

Love He told us in which to abide.
Love the reason He was crucified.

Este dia te recibimos Dios
en nuestro corazon.
Para darnoa vida eterno,
el Padre te mando.

Amor un regalo que uno puede dar.
El vino para nuestros pegados pagar.

Love, the greatest gift that one could give.
Love, is how we all were made to live.

Today love was born in Bethlehem
let us all come celebrate!

Our Savior and Lord of all The Christ,
Our New Born King!

Love each other is what we must do.
Love why Jesus came and died for you.

Let us remember today how much
God has loved us.
And let us remember today,
why Jesus Christ was born.


Milton L. Delgado

my own importance is swallowed like a pill,
by the resonance of his voice,
vocabulary ****** dry and replaced with a sheen of the need to
stay so unbearably quiet.

i always want to waltz in open spaces,
feel the air rushing past my arms as i spin,
but walking into a house so white and so cold,
i feel like i have ignored the welcome mat at the door.

it's his alleged presence,
or maybe it's just my own scepticism acquiring the patina of caution.
i walk with soft slow steps as if not to wake the dead in the garden,
cut short the swirl of my movements,
replace air vents in cartilage joints with rocks or plaster.
am i even supposed to feel like a person in my own right?

i wish someone would drop a pin for me to assess the quiet,
but there is a soft small current of people feeling at home,
or the quiet and the cautious mixing in like a cavity in a set of white teeth.

when i step back out into the sun,
my lungs grow fuller with oxygen, the leaves appear greener and the sky is more vibrant.
i do not feel his eyes on me as much; or the weight of being contained.
perhaps he just wanted me to go home.

I am the flower of untouched perceptibility, the unique breed nobody could ever find in any imposing gardens. Do not chase to haunt me and the richness of my petals’ sap if you are not a holy breed of spirit as I might wither and get my seeds of knowledge scratched in your unjust volition. I am the pearl, the mermaid chain of blushing moon tides.

my grandmother and i are on the couch.

when i ask about the soft edges in everyone's voice, she tells me,
"it's because these few days are holy."
and i remember my aunt this morning
saying something about how people must meditate
on their savior,
and think about their god.

i look at her now,
at the table with two other people,
their fingers curled in front of them,
their heads bowed,
and words quietly escaping their lips
like prayers they have memorized from the cards in their hands.
there are no saviors to them,
just kings and queens
that lead them into the night.
(but meditation has always been better done late, i guess.)

the dim light hangs above my aunt and her friends like
a numb pain that has settled
in a throat that has been suffocating for centuries
called 'architectural beauty,'
called 'site of sacred things,'
called a photography background for tourists.

the coins bounce across the table
and ring like bells
and my aunt's arms stretch
and rake the thirty silver pieces
into her chest,
thanking luck or fortune
or her god
for a prayer answered,
her friends cursing luck or fortune
or their god
as they gather another set of cards
into their curled fingers.

the words come out in a stream of kings and queens
and numbers.
their mouth spill their heart on the table,
right there - a murmured incantation
of awe
or devotion

or just
silver.

-j.g.

Does the pious man live the holy life
By avoiding demons
Or by remaining righteous in their presence?