Grant me use of your hues, mysterious creator. Lend me sight of soothing blue, sound of vibrant red, and feeling of passionate green. Tint my world with all the flavors of your rainbow, then set me free to play amid the swirling colors of joy.
Poetry: Moments as Words
I am a philosopher-poet or pretend to be, whilst I amuse myself with thought. Here you can find some of my ponderings that have become words. Click on a title in the right-hand menu to change which poem is displayed. New titles are this color. (Some of these poems may appear elsewhere, as well.)
In a Strange Land
Spring surrounds me with the joyous memory of renewal.
Revitalization, motivation, and improvisation in bloom.
Life has meaning once again.
All around me I hear this call of nature
and see the beauteous awakening of creation,
as it shakes off the long, cold sleep of winter.
Everything seems right in the world.
Perhaps my beloved community has grown bitter,
wandering too long in the dark,
forgetting that the sun was always there?
Or, maybe, not so much a state of discontent.
Could it be an exhaustion so deep that hope fades,
even as the warmth swells all around us?
Regardless, it dampens my spirit, this lack of enthusiasm.
My Joy is a wondrous thing, never abandoning me.
Even the lost and lonely voices lamenting on the wind,
can not quell its promise of Divine Grace.
I can weep with those who cry in the streets.
When failures befall us, I sigh in solidarity,
and I flinch at cruelty, the unkind, the uncaring.
Still, my Joy remains, rebounds, returns me to Self.
Yet, when the call to action goes unheard,
when awakening is muffled in the groggy pretense of time,
how should I proceed?
Do I turn a blind eye, close the doors of empathy?
Even in a Joyful life, the long, continuous resignation,
the worship of gloom and the veil of indifference,
when encountered daily, becomes too much.
Shall I then surrender, release this delusion?
Who am I to think that I can help anyone?
Though my light must not be denied, it is mine alone.
Each life must be its own beacon, make its own choices.
Oh, Keeper of My Soul, help me to see my way,
and let me be not too proud to understand that
I am never alone and always alone, going, growing.
[kasey v2 2016.04.16]
Note: This is my first attempt to write a "real" poem in over a year. I needed to express myself about some mixed feelings in my relationships. The rough draft appears as "Stranger in a Strange Land" in journal svinsanctum.