#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?

#568 On The Final Step

One final step
And the earth collapses underneath your feet
The ground you thought was solid
Gives way to an avalanche of tears

That final step
Breaks through the reams of cruel soil
The gruel of your dreams
Flushed away into the gaping seam

Your final day
And life collapses into the darkest maw
The solid darkness of muted synapses
Your hopes now
Made forever raw.

#564 On Your Dark Clouds of Regret

Encrowned with dark clouds of regret
In far-off lands you seek refuge
A proud denial of life’s upsets
You hide in practiced subterfuge
But still the sadness’ yours to keep
Your life’s “J’Accuse” is what you reap.