Your eyes steal you away:
the steely prison of the moment
cannot stop your escape.
Baggage remains unclaimed,
discarded, abandoned,
shed in the journey
beyond this moment.
The shadow of a kiss
stays, soft and silent,
imprinted on your lips
like unspoken words
held back for fear
of losing them.
The moment has stolen you
in its moon tide;
sails,
winged with wind,
draw you distant
to the echo
of a sound
yet to be made.
Knife Angel
What is in your eyes,
as you gaze down in sadness,
at those around your feet
who return your stare ?
You bear the weight of souls
within the blades you have saved
from deadly purpose
that inhabit your form,
in sinews of steel.
The blood of rust, tearfully,
cascades from blade to blade
as you sentinel dismay.
There is an unspoken plea
in the mouth of your hands
which speaks,
above the dumbness of metal:
dismay, futility
and the inevitability of nothing learned.
On your deadly feathered wings
you carry the mourning
of the life-deprived;
engraved names
whose uncompleted journeys
leave scars and wounds
beyond blood
in those who grieve.
I have seen you,
yet others pass by,
in unanswered conversation
and unmet eyes,
armed with discontent
honed to sharpness
and the cutting edge of fear
and pay no heed.
Tomb.
All is silence.......
until a crescendo of birdsong
fanfares day,
hailing the coming of sun,
the return of the Son.
The silent stones of Palm Sunday
attend the moved rock
of this Easter Sunday
silent in awe.
There are no palm leaves here,
discarded fronds blown away
by the week of wind, of storm,
and the mischief of history.
Nightfall
