Pinks and golds,
blues and purples,
So many colours
Of the sky I hadn’t noticed.

Clarity in chaos
Cold sunlight
Thundering silence
Absence of life

The endless days
The boring nights
Filled with meaningless chatter
And petty fights

Nothing matters
Not anymore
It’s just a matter of time
Until we’re all gone.

So take a deep breath
Sing another psalm
Who knows
It could be your swan song.

Or so the fortune tellers
And seers of the world
Would have us believe
When despair takes its toll
And gnaws at our grief.

Faith keeps us moving.
Faith brings us together.
Faith is enough for me to love.
It is enough for me to LIVE.

Keeping my calm
like an Islamic
but I don’t read the psalms
I’m watching them drop bombs
like a repeat of Saddam

(a poem for Christina-Taylor Green, who
was born on September 11, 2001 and who
died at age nine, shot to death ...)

Child of 9-11, beloved,
I bring this lily, lay it down
here at your feet, and eiderdown,
and all soft things, for your gentle spirit.
I bring this psalm — I hope you hear it.

Much love I bring — I lay it down
here by your form, which is not you,
but what you left this shell-shocked world
to help us learn what we must do
to save another child like you.

Child of 9-11, I know
you are not here, but watch, afar
from distant stars, where angels rue
the evil things some mortals do.
I also watch; I also rue.

And so I make this pledge and vow:
though I may weep, I will not rest
nor will my pen fail heaven's test
till guns and wars and hate are banned
from every shore, from every land.

Child of 9-11, I grieve
your tender life, cut short ... bereaved,
what can I do, but pledge my life
to saving lives like yours? Belief
in your sweet worth has led me here ...

I give my all: my pen, this tear,
this lily and this eiderdown,
and all soft things my heart can bear;
I bring them to your final bier,
and leave them with my promise, here.

*

Published by The Flea, The Lyric, Copia Posterous, Elizabeth’s Ramblings, Legacy.com and Fullosia Press

Keywords/Tags: Child, beloved, lily, eiderdown, psalm, shooting, gun, violence, massacres, 9-11, evil, NRA, guns, war, wars, hate, hatred

In the valley of darkness, I shall not want
Though a hole resides where the heartbeat should be
The vessels still do their work

My lungs decay, black and smoked out
And my organs dry up from strong rums
And the things I hold dear become a desert storm

But I shall not ask for the help of dying trees
Whose fruit, though ripe, would leave me with less leaves
Or perhaps with more than I could bear

No, I stand on the mountains
The mountains we lived in, where the church sits upon the hill
I stand on the mountains and call for him

I call for him
and I know - without science or senses -
That he is near

is










good.

Flooded by eyes of sky blue

Drowning in pleasure don’t attempt to rescue

Drenched by a tempestuous soul

I look for the sun to dry me quickly

But their beacon eyes close

Filling this space now a choking hue

Immortal gloom  

Thunder enables the clouds to release a flood

Drowning in sorrow

Those who were there to rescue have taken shelter

But only one promised to never forsake me

Faithful as he was before

Just as in the days of old

The same yesterday, today, and forevermore

Candle, candle, where you breathe,                                  
may this light of yours succeed.
Candle, candle, bright and pure,                                      
from the flames of hell return.
Candle, candle, where you breathe,                                  
may this flame of yours succeed,
Candle, candle, wise and strong,                                    
bring forth your heavenly perfumes,
cease the wars, cease the injustice,
vanish at once the filth of sinners.
Candle, candle, where you are,                                        
bring forth your light, let it increase.
Candle, candle, bright and strong,                                  
from the depths of hell return,
place the jewels of Heaven on the mouths of all sinners.
Candle, candle, deep allure,                                                  
may the flames of hell adorn,                                            
with the light of Heaven glows,                                        
with the piercing brightness flow.

"A Psalm of Life" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)
What the heart of the young man said to the Psalmist

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each tomorrow
Find us farther than today.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world’s broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!APsalmof_Life

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,—act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o’erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;—

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.