Kneel

We were revolutionaries.
We were soldiers,
And we were lovers.
We held hands,
And we sang our way,
Through mountain passes,
Fire,
Flames,
And battle fields.
Hold out for me.
Stand strong against the hate of these lands.
Never leave me alone.
You are powerful,
And in my weakness,
I was so strong.
Through you I can stand.
Don’t forget that I still follow you,
You stride so quickly.
Raise a battle yell,
And run to your foes.
Raise your arms and call them home.
We were revolutionaries.
We were soldiers,
And we were lovers.
Lead me through these broken paths,
Across the seas,
The fire,
The flames,
And the battle fields.
Your eyes they shone like brilliant stars,
And I,
I am a firefly,
I flicker and imitate your enduring beauty.
Though ephemeral,
I too can be beautiful.
I am your adorer.
You are adored.
Oh, my beloved,
Together,
We are revolutionaries.
We are soldiers,
And we are lovers.
I kneel before you,
My love,
My God,
Upon the ice,
Upon the fire,
The flames,
And the battle fields,
Will I kneel,
O, my love.

Palm Trees in the Fog

I sing a song of California.
I sing a song of all I love.
I see the trees,
The sand,
The dove.
I sing a song of California.

I hold the mountains in my hand,
And lat them gently in the sand.
All this time I churn the seas,
Before the sun upon my knees.

From the woods down to the beach,
All beauty lies within my reach.
I am the queen of this vast land,
And still a beggar where I stand.

I sing a song of California.
I sing a song of all I love.
I see the palm trees in the fog.
I hold the sands,
The breeze,
The dove.
I sing a song of California.

Come, O sacred desert stone,
Your old face my eyes have known.
Stand tall before the scathing winds,
Scold the grass which gently bends.

When I long for cooler clime,
Into the mountains shall I climb.
Where the snow and brook all shine,
Upon these lips they turn to wine.

I sing a song of California.
I sing a song of all I love.
I see the palm trees in the fog.
I grasp the isle,
The hawk,
The dove.
I sing a song of California,
With all these palm trees in the fog.

Here the child on my knees,
Sleeps and dreams of the free.
All their faces call my name,
While the ocean does the same.

I sing my song of California.
I sing my song of all I love.
I see the palm trees in the fog.
I kiss the cheek,
The earth,
The dove.
I sing a song of California,
With all these palm trees in the fog.

“The Wrath of Werther’s Companion” or “June 16th”

Upon a wretched, dreary night,
We lit the candles cold and bright,
And watched the wind tear the trees,
And force them down on bended knees.

We closed the curtains, shut the blinds,
And pushed the storm far from our minds,
But I did not the terror heed,
Or warmth of hearth did I need.

Quickly did I climb the stairs,
Forgetting party’s timid cares,
And found the tower far above,
The party of poor Werther’s love.

Here the shutters stood still wide,
And did not the lightning hide.
Its fury I could never fear,
When in my heart it stood so near.

There in flashing, angry dark,
Died the petty, jealous spark,
Which hated her who stole his heart,
Who struck at me with cupid’s dart.

Fool was I to fall in love,
With a man like wounded dove,
Who cries and trembles but doesn’t feel,
What it is to fight for real.

So I watch the storm here ravage,
With a wrath something savage,
And I know all the while,
That he will die while she doth smile.

I will live again in peace,
And another’s heart she’ll lease,
But he will fail to carry on,
Will fall like hunted, broken fawn.

So I smile at the storm,
Which takes a new, vile form,
And know that though I was not blessed,
His own heart he’ll put to rest.

Tender Violence

Tender violence,
Grips the world.
All this pain of living,
Which wracks the body,
Like the angel’s sword,
Is also the unutterable ecstasy,
The agonizing bliss,
Of God’s awesome love.

Best

Whatever is better.
Do not tear down the old,
Simply because it is so.
Do not reject the new,
Simply because it is foreign.
Build and maintain whatever is better.
And when we can,
Establish what is best.

And We Were Free

They called us a cult. That’s what FOX said, and CNN too. The local channels got a little more personal and accused us of abduction, brain washing, and a variety of other practices we would abhor. We were not a cult, at least as far as our understanding of the word goes. We would call ourselves simply a group of like-minded individuals. We did not follow stars. We did not drink tainted cool-aid and carry around a hit-list. We simply loved the same things and hated the same things and wanted the same things.
We hated celebrities.
We hated school.
We hated buildings and light switches and rules and pundits and scrunchies and toy poodles.
We loved the ocean.
We loved the sky.
We loved poetry and God and acoustic guitars and calluses and sharks and salt in our hair and the stars at night.
We wanted to live simply for these things. We wanted to love, and society hated this, because we hated society. We aren’t new. We are ancient, more ancient than law and society. We were created in the Garden of Eden and made to wander. Temptation is inherent to society and society drove us from union with nature. So we turned our backs on society. We roamed and we rambled. We dropped out of school. We quit our jobs. We sold our homes, and we followed God. We watched Him in the wind stirring the birch trees. We heard His voice in the steady patter of rain. We felt Him in the hardness of stone and the tender shoots of new, spring grass. We loved and we saw love every day. We were imperfect and sometimes we saw hate. This world is imperfect and sometimes we saw death. But it was all beautiful because we were free.
One day we stood upon a mountain side and climbed its jagged face. Clutching its stony wrinkles in our fingers, we slipped and stole across the cliffs and ravines. We looked into the misty valley then towards the clarity of the sun overhead. And all the while we did not see the men coming from the north. We did not see them because they stood in the mist and we trekked above in the light of the sun. We did not see them because we did not expect to find masses amassed against us. The sun shone in our eyes and suddenly we stood in the shadows of the forest and we walked slowly onward under the shifting and shuddering light sifting through the narrow fingers of the pines which swayed slowly about us. We were walking into their trap.
Before we could react there was a battalion of men around us. Some wore uniforms, others the plaids and fatigues of hunters and mountain men. They shouted and brandished diverse weapons in our directions. A rifle spoke first. It demanded something, a boy. Sure there were children with us. Some of us had been children years ago when we began this aimless pilgrimage. Some of us were born on this endless, wandering trail. Some of us had joined recently and were very young. Others were very old. We didn’t care. We let all stand among us. We turned none away. Neither past, nor present, nor future, nor height, nor depth kept any from entering should they desire a place in our midst.
A pitchfork shouted belligerently, and tore through our midst. It pushed and it bruised and it battered and it found its mark.
One of us was dragged away into their midst and a woman wrapped stained, bruised, striped arms around his neck. He coughed. Her bleak, bleary eyes moved not while her mouth sobbed.
We loved him and we wept openly. One of us rushed forward to save the child and struck out at a police man. We pulled her back and she wept. The officer tore her away and chained her wrists. The brother and sister were dragged away. A mocking mother clutched at the boy and slapped the girl, shouting cruelties and abuses. This mother saw a young woman who had brain washed the sports star, a strange new-age hippy who had deprived this young man of his potential. We saw a sister who had torn her brother from abuse, from oppression, from hate, from judgment.
We wept for them both and ran down the mountain. We followed and stood at the town’s borders while he was locked into a home with smoke-stained walls and she was chained in the law’s festering bowels. There we stood, upon the threshold. The River Styx lay before us and it was called South Main Street. A semi rumbled and puffed past us, transporting a legion of plasma TV’s. Its exhaust swirled around us and filled our nostrils with the scent of sulfur and cyanide. We coughed and we screamed and we cried to the skies. We prayed that the trees would tear down this wretched town that the bars of steel and the doors of wood would be rent asunder by the resurrecting waters of the flood.
We begged the town’s people to return these innocents to us. We begged them to release them and to let them follow their paths as they would. We asked them what crimes they could be held for, what law could hold such as them in that dreadful abyss. None could answer us. None could be bothered to speak to such as us. The first night came and we found that some of our own had stolen away in the night. They had left their weather-beaten clothes upon the ground where they had slept. Their books and their instruments and their hope lay, abandoned in the dust. We cried for them. The second night came and saw more leave. And so the third night came and very few of us still stood upon that road side, holding the various gifts of our fallen brothers and sisters. And we wept for them and we wept for the children and we wept for the night whose stars were obscured by the street lights, theater marquees, and bar neon. But the sun rose and we began to lose hope and we began to look to the mountain which would hide us from our enemies.
We began to ascend the slope and we began to see the wind-washed sky, when out of the smog and fume sprang two of the most beautiful, shining faces we had ever seen. The children spun and danced and together we all laughed and sang and ran into the forest and across the babbling brook and found the shining mountain top which sustained us. The girl she sang and the boy he played. The sun smiled down on us and a happy rain touched our smiling lips. It washed the bloody dust from our hands. It cleansed our lungs. It washed the soot and the tears from our eyes. We were clean again and we grasped each other’s hands and we kissed the breezes which lifted our souls.
The purple mountains sang with the clouds. The seas, they roared. The prairie grasses hummed a simple tune. It was all so beautiful. We sighed, for we were free, free again. So slowly we walked over the mountains, over the dunes, over the seas, listening with ready ears for those thunderous voices and those golden trumpets. We listened and our hearts were gladdened and we were free.

Virgin

It was
The smooth stone,
Falling,
Sliding,
Into the lake,
The glistening pool,
Far,
Far below.
Vines droop over the edge,
Allowing their
Limp,
Languishing,
Limbs,
To stir the surface,
Of the crystalline waters.
A breeze shifts the canopy,
The great green roof,
Of this, our natural cathedral.
But that breeze,
It cannot,
It does not,
Touch the waters,
Sighing at my feet.
They ripple.
They shift.
They breath.
See the breast of the water,
Rise and fall,
Rise,
Fall,
Riiiiiiise.
A dying breath and it is still.
Then a creatures moves a vine,
Tickling,
Touching,
The great blue eye,
And it blinks,
And breathes,
Again.
The stone glimmers,
Shines.
It too is blue,
Crystalline like the waters,
Like the waters it embraces.
Those glassy cliffs,
Dropping into the pool,
Look like ice,
Reaching for the image of its past.
The cliffs are still,
Dead.
The water,
It breathes.
A living pool,
Fed with life.
Behind me stand the hateful howls.
Behind me screams,
Paint,
Spear,
Blood.
Then one swift move.
I fall,
Slowly,
Slowly,
Floating,
Splash.
The water swallows my body,
Its insatiable mouth closes over my head.
Here I am a fish.
I swim.
The pool is left unsatisfied.
And the voices do not know.
I am a fish.

Barefoot Truth

Barefoot Truth

An Iron Mask

Behind the wretched iron mask,
I have this dull and lonesome task,
To count the rivets ‘round my eyes,
Until all sanity in me dies.

The smell of rust it fills my nose,
With the scent of putrid rose,
And the lice upon my head,
Will be my mourners when I’m dead.

Heat in summer burns my skin,
Erasing likeness of my kin,
Upon his throne before the court,
Who locked me in this hateful fort.

Behind the lovely iron mask,
I bear this heavy and lofty task,
To count the rivets ‘round my eyes,
While all sanity in me dies.

In the shadows of my mind,
There are two lights I hide behind,
Filling world with blinding light,
Giving me dreadful fright.

Here the rats they sing for me,
With a royal and pompous glee.
The roaches throw a jolly ball,
Better than in any lordly hall.

Behind my regal iron mask,
I take this great and noble task,
To count the rivets ‘round my eyes,
Now all sanity in me dies.

Sync in Progress

Here I sit under fluorescent lighting and I am being told by my computer that I am waiting for my iPhone to download new software. Is this life? Is this our beautiful, enlightened future? We are put on hold for the wires and lights which keep us connected. Who would Emily Dickenson be? A blogger like me with only two followers, perhaps. So I wait and watch the little white bar on the screen slowly fill up so I may continue to check email and update my facebook status. Who are we? We are what we download.

Peligro Escolar

Pobre niño,
Que ya sufre,
Bajo la mano opresiva del maestro.

Pobre chica,
Que ya perdió,
La imaginación,
Por los deberes del maestro.

Pobre juventud,
Matado entre los brazos,
Rígidos y secos,
De la educación moderna.

Pobre pasión,
Pobre ardor,
Pobre imaginación,
Pobre sueño,
Todos matados,
Por la enseñanza.

Persecution and Salvation

We waded through the murky sea,
Its waters lapping at our legs.
The moon, it glimmered happily,
Drinking down the bitter dregs.

Snatching at our sullied shirts,
The wind, it laughed with wretched mirth.
We trudged on despite our hurts,
Seeking refuge from day’s birth.

We the fugitives of the war,
The only rebels bleeding still.
Our brothers’ bodies line the shore,
And yet our enemies long to kill.

Through the water we will tread,
To hide our footsteps from the men,
Who search for us and strip our dead,
And with one sight would shoot us then.

In the night we may be safe,
Lost in the shadow of the shroud,
Which cloaks us from the hateful waif,
The gun well-primed, loaded, proud.

Stay, hot sun, your rapid step,
Your light would put us in the grave,
With the men for whom we wept,
During search for copse or cave.

And yet that light on yonder hill,
Shows no mercy, love, or care,
But proceeds on with iron will,
And keeps us from our hidden lair.

There! A shot, from the trees!
Lost are we upon the beach.
We are all the pistol sees,
Trapped within his leaden reach.

The pain which tears at heart and soul,
Runs from shining steel fist,
Our lives they end, while waves still roll,
These cheeks are cold which once were kissed.

O! My captain, there we lie,
Blood mixing there with surf and sand.
Now look to Him who did too die,
Who gives to us His loving hand.

So our race and pain are done,
The earthly battle is there lost,
But celestial war we have won,
By grace which paid the sinner’s cost.

Freedom

Freedom is beautiful,
It is wild,
It is the stars,
Over a mountain,
Water spilling,
Through the jungle.
I saw freedom once.
It was a bare foot,
Pressed against,
A mossy stone.
I felt freedom once.
It was rough,
And left dirt on my palm.
I heard freedom once.
It was a howl,
Tangled in the wind.
I smelled freedom once.
It was hot like spices,
And sweat,
On callused skin.
I tasted freedom once.
It was salt water,
And jalapeño peppers.
I was free once.

Hermanito mío

Dame la mano,
Bonito bebé,
Dame la vista,
Esperanza de fe.

Soy la que te querré,
Soy la que sigue ya.
Entre la calle,
Y las olas del mar,
Soy la hermana que te vi,
Pasar.

Semana nos deja,
Sin saber,
El mes nos dejó,
Sin hablar.

Óyeme, chico,
Hermanito mío,
Óyeme, hombre,
Que vive pa’llá.

Déjanos ver

Mira, mamá,
Como vuelen.
Mira, papá,
Como van.

Mira la nube,
Y el pájaro de Él.
Mira el mar,
Y sus olas de fe.

White Chalk

Chalk shatters,
On the marble floor,
With a beautiful noise,
Like a bell,
Struck,
And muffled,
A chirp-like chime,
Silenced as it’s struck,
Shattered on the tile,
Shards and dust,
With a sound like glass,
Small,
And sharp,
The stick of chalk lies,
Broken.

Laborer's Dirge

Here we fall before the sky,
The sky,
The sky,
Before we die.

There we toiled in the fields,
The fields,
The fields,
The power he wields.

Again we wash blood from the hands,
The hands,
The hands,
Which formed these lands.

Never again before the whip,
The whip,
The whip,
Shall we slip.

Below the earth we worked so long,
So long,
So long,
Lie bodies strong.

With our Lord we finally rest,
We rest,
We rest,
Far from the pest.

Want Not

I want not,
To be great,
To be grand,
To have power,
To have wealth.
I want only,
To have peace,
To have faith,
To have joy,
To have hope,
To have love,
And to give these gifts:
Peace,
Faith,
Joy,
Hope,
And love;
With an open heart.

Lighted Lanterns

Fill me with lighted lanterns,
Whose painted petals,
Flutter in a soft sea breeze.
Shut out the darkness,
With roses reaching,
Towards a sun of golden pearls.
We are the children of the waves,
Running before the moon,
Ever chasing the sweet kiss,
Of summer’s sunny sighs.
You are the rebellion,
Against the shadow,
The idea which I would follow.
You are the philosophy,
And I the philosopher.
Take away the chains I wear,
Make of me a free woman.
Grasses dance before the breeze,
And I before all he sees.
Rain that falls from sunny skies,
Washes,
Weary,
Watered eyes.
Lights that dance,
Upon the waves,
Fill the heart with greater joy.
Turn my eyes from the sand,
To the orb upon the mount,
Shaking shattered fears away,
Building hope a better home.
Be the hand which holds me up,
The sustaining strength which I lack.
Against the shadow shall we stand,
To battle beasts of fattened lands.
Hold me up as I slip,
My fettered feet falter step.
Fill me now with candlelight,
Touched by neither breath nor breeze,
Chasing shadows from my soul,
Warming corners cold as stone.
Fill me with lighted lanterns,
Shutting out the winter’s woe.

All that is Hidden

Winter is cold.
Can I fly?
On all that is hidden?
Am I lost,
In fountains
Of emerald leaves,
Toppling over glass
Gleaming cliffs?
All I am is summer,
Changing,
Passing,
And fickle.
I fall
Upon sand like
A frost under the sea.
And all I am
Is hidden
Under snow and cloud.
Winter is cold.
Can I be
A sun clouded over
For a while?
And shine again
With the summer?
Winter is cold.

Regret

(It’s cliché, but not so much when it’s yours.)
How to live
When you know
You could have been
Who you want to be,
You could have
Loved where you were,
You could have
Done what you enjoyed,
You could have been
Happy,
You could have
Lived,
You could have
Loved.
How to live knowing
All you lost,
All that could have been yours.
Never fear,
Hurt,
Nor Pain.
For the pain of fighting for what you love,
Is far less,
Than the pain of living,
Knowing what you could have had.

Thoughts on Nature

I find it difficult to believe that it rains or snows in big cities. I have seen it, but it still shocks. It seems that these places are too civilized for something as wild as weather. There is nothing, no nature, for rain or snow to fall for. What trace of nature can be found in a city is planned and orderly. It exists in parks and boulevards, and these do not need the watering nature gives for we have sprinklers, gardeners, fertilizer. Why then does it rain in cities? Perhaps, for nature to show that she survives and is free in spite of us.
How beautiful it would be to see walls torn down by vine and tree. How beautiful to see a city skyline turned to a mountain range and a street to a river bed. We are not as strong as we think. We are not so civilized that nature holds no power over us. She, His creation, still holds sway.

Comfortable Suffering

Hear the chatter of the voice,
Of the parrot in the cage.
See the lady’s pet of choice,
With plumes the color of bloody rage.

The cage of iron beautifully wrought,
Stands against a white-washed wall.
Against the heat the wall had fought,
And yet the sun feigned not to fall.

The women sat within the gate,
Of the courtyard of their home.
There they would eternally wait,
In silence as if they were alone.

An ant crawls across the place,
Red-hot tiles which make the floor.
It marches across a strip of lace,
A gown stitched by hands quite poor.

Listen now to their fans,
Chasing sweat from the face,
Which will age despite their plans.
Now even here can time keep pace.

Against the wall grows a vine,
Whose fingers stretch and widen cracks,
And for its freedom it does pine,
Growing despite all it lacks.

The sun beats down upon the scene.
There is no breeze to chase away,
The sighs behind their veils’ screen,
Passions, by corsets, kept at bay.

Within these walls lives Despair,
And her sisters all in chains,
Of flowing gowns and scented hair,
A palace prison where beauty wanes.

Timeless Wanderer

I wish I could move
And travel
Wherever
I could wish.
Tumbling waters in an emerald jungle,
I’d see
Light dancing past
The horizon of the moon,
Comets’ tails,
Dancing stars,
A gruesome eye
Blinking in the eternal night
Of some great sea.
All this I’d see,
And hold within.
A cloud’s caverns,
And rivers of the underground,
Pass with tumultuous joy
Through the cracks,
Between my fingers,
But never from my mind.
All this would be mine,
For I saw it
Dance,
Shimmer,
Splash,
And sink
Into oblivion,
As I traveled.
I’d wander among the stars,
Upon a simple breeze,
On the crest of a wave.
Timeless Wanderer
Would I be,
And all this beauty
Would I see.

Our Storm

Rain upon an old tin roof,
Dust and Dirt
In torrents swirl.
Gleaming steel
Glistens still,
In dusky light,
And fire’s will.
Clouds like rumbling buffalo hooves
Stomp out light,
With white-hot sound.
Leaves and rattling graveyard bones,
Clashing cymbals
Throwing stones.
Wailing banshee
Clawing sky,
Smoke and fire tumble down.
Flashes of waves
Shred the windy shrouds,
Of modern wraiths.
Grey and black fall from under
Shattered mirrors,
Of our fear.

For the Love of Cuba

It is impossible to describe,
The love I carry,
Within my Heart,
Upon my shoulders,
It is impossible to make you understand,
How my soul can yearn,
After a place,
I have never Seen.
I spend hours buscando,
Fotos, pictures,
SONGS,
Of that place I long to touch,
And have never seen,
But through,
The glass portal
Of a LENSE,
Or the brush strokes
Of an Artist’s hand.
Lord, that someday,
I may touch the sands of her playas,
But for the Love of Cuba,
I will wait through eternity.
Until she sees
Dios
Patria
Y
Libertad.
I will not even touch a grain of
Sand upon the white beaches,
Stroked lovingly by the waves.
Come now,
Gusanos Mios,
And embrace the beauty,
Of a free land,
A land to be ours,
Forever More,
Por Siempre.
It could be a land,
Blessed by God,
Besado por el sol,
And cradled by the moon.
For the love of Cuba,
I will wait.
And with the eternal hope and vivacity
Of the Cuban,
I will love Her,
Forever more,
For the Love of Cuba.

Why We Listen

And if the sun did cease to shine,
This world, this world would still be mine!
They cannot see the path below,
When lamp in hand has ceased to glow.
The failing of the bird’s sweet voice,
Will signal loss of right and choice.
And if they now should choose to stray,
This world, this world would turn away.

A Little Rebelion

There is no freedom in this world.
There is no joy in banners unfurled.
We are all trapped within the guise,
Of this society and its lies.

Forget the petty little fools.
There is no truth in their rules.
Tear down the judge and his laws.
Better yet, tear down their flaws.

Money is a chain for men,
Shattering pencil, shattering pen.
It casts away this joy of ours,
The joy of life’s simple hours.

Do not stamp out the child’s dreams.
Do not cast out moonlight beams.
Give us joy and give us might.
We’ll drive out shadows with our light.

Strive

I want calluses on my hands,
Sweat on my brow,
Blood on my feet,
The sun on my back,
Dust in my eyes.
I want to fall beneath my burden,
And know all the while,
That I am strong,
And I am free,
And with God’s help,
One day,
I’ll sing.

Vegas Wedding

(Something silly I threw together.)

Together upon a drunken sea,
Together forever, joined are we,
Upon this rich and luscious dream,
Jauntily sailing by the beam.

To never part we have sworn,
Until death shrouds we have worn.
Make a toast to true love’s life,
And drink it down, make me your wife.

None more happy were ever seen,
And in this state upon you I lean,
Until the world should cease to spin,
And my head quit this awful din.

Morning comes with terrific pain,
I wish to drink never again.
What is this upon my hand?
What could this be, this ghastly band?

World of Dreams

How strange is the world of dreams,
Where nothing has definite shape,
Where all is in flux.
Change is infinite,
Constant.
And time infinitely inconstant.
In this place where faces,
Bodies,
Places change,
Pain,
Fear,
Joy,
And peace,
Dance and bend upon one another.
How strange is this world of dreams,
Where voices move,
And lips,
Are still.
Where fire flows like water,
And a tree becomes the sea.
A grand ship with masts tall as mountains,
Becomes a toy in my hand.
A friend so kind,
Turns upon me with gnashing teeth.
How strange the world of dreams,
Where colors are colorless,
And sounds,
Are silent.
Gravity chains body immobile,
Then suddenly relaxes,
And we soar into flight.
All is fluid,
And solid still.
A road once straight,
Begins to twist.
And a house’s walls turn into trees.
How strange is the world of dreams,
And stranger still,
Reality.

The Most Beautiful

A nearsighted man and a farsighted man sat staring over a valley. They argued endlessly over which was the most beautiful thing in the world. The nearsighted man claimed that it was the rose bush, and the farsighted man maintained that it was the mountains. Which was correct?

Freedom's Paradox

I try to free myself.
I try to break the chains,
But I realize…
That in this effort I remain
A slave,
That to be truly free
One must be free
To be a slave.

Anniversary Poem

Their love like sun upon the earth,
Their love like wind upon the sea,
Steady and constant,
Ever present,
Wonderful how it comforts me.

Fill the air with daylight’s joy,
A laugh and smile to be seen,
From afar,
A shining star,
Love’s great mirth in it gleam.

Though the night may now descend,
Though a storm may threaten here,
Their love undaunted,
Never flaunted,
Keeps safe all that they hold dear.

Strength and wisdom do embrace,
In two souls by God’s hand made,
To be paired,
In life shared,
To follow Him as He bade.

Mother, Father, in your love,
Was made a home for the dreams,
Like lofty clouds,
In golden shrouds,
Of the ones who upon you lean.

Their love like whispers of a song,
Their love like stars in heaven set,
Cast out dark,
Like heav’nly spark.
God’s love in these, united, met.

Victim

Along this dark and windy road,
I carried my light and heavy load.
Beyond the reach of any light,
Far from mind when lost from sight.

I am the gypsy’s lonely queen,
Forever and ever wandering.
Call me earth or call me sky,
There is life’s fire in my eye.

The moon is lost behind a cloud,
My face behind my mourning shroud.
Douse the fire, douse the flame.
Forgot forever is my name.

I am the gypsy’s lonely wife,
Forever under their bloody knife.
Call me shadow or call me night,
In their eyes I was blight.

Alone I walk this hidden path,
The eternal victim of their wrath.
Dust upon the road I tread,
Like the ashes of our dead.

I am the child’s lonely home,
Forever am meant to walk alone.
Call me gypsy or call me Jew,
It was my name that you slew.