#584 On Your Subtle Benediction

Benedictus,
Beneath the humdrum throb of daily life,
I can almost hear the silent bassline
Of your Music: the constant and active
Act of Creation that disarms the knife
Of Chaos and repels the saturnine
And the unjust and the invidious.
I close my eyes; I will away the intrusive
Glare of vile, idolatrous strife.
I surrender to Your Music: subtle and benign.

#583 On This Portapotty Existence

Glassy-eyed, we walk past these corridors,
Chasing numbers across our yawning days.
A hamster’s hunt through the glass doors
Of swanky corporate offices, scurrying past
Our portapotty cubicles, our diurnal homes,
Like defeated castle gnomes, downcast,
Eking out one final groan, one final chase.

What kind of life is this? Who made this so?
How did we submit to this existence?
We who are made in His image, we who know
Better - we who are mirrors reflecting His Magnificence?