The cacophony world and all its noise
Do little else than shout of all
There is that is wrong about you.

But it has no control over itself
And neither do you have the power
To restore to it the harmony

From which it once fell.

Silence, if you can find it,
Has overcome the world.
But not before your helplessness

Remedies you with the Truth,
That you cannot find it
Or bring it to harmony with so small as yourself

Let alone the cacophony world.

Fleeing only weakens the remedy:
There is but one help:
To let the silence find you,

And bring you to that harmony
That is both still and eternal moment,
That is the sanctuary where peace resides.

Maranatha Mirror

Maranatha Mirror

Not certain what remains behind my ribs,
Untold unfathomable grace, alone,
Suffices to explain the coursing veins,
The grey of matter that, despite the grave,
The gravity of all that Sheol once knew,
Persists in sparking flashing burn of life.

The entropy means I am ash and yet
I fire and do not fade, though silent before
The throngs who do not know why they are here,
Remaining as a revelator must,
My heart is theirs, and soon the trumpet blasts.
All watch the sky, blind to the horsemen here,
The plagues are called a good despite all fear.

“Marana Tha!” they call out from the tombs.
“Maran Atha!” I cry when judgement comes



Your longing, that hole in your heart,
That uncrossable chasm you seek to fill
Has only God as the One
Who can cross and fill it.

The hole in your heart,
Being the size of God,
Is healed by God alone
Whose pierced heart

Has taken on
A hole the size of you,
Crossed and whole
If you would but let Him

Make you whole.
That for which you long
Will not satisfy.
God alone suffices

At the Crossroads of Continents

At the Crossroads of Continents

The King brings his bread, the King brings his wine.
From Salem without beginning or end:
Your catalog sings the outbreaks of peace,
Jerusalem, home, a place for all men.

Still walls are torn down and are built once again.
Still pillaging kings and emperors come;
Assyria, Greece, and Persia, and Rome…
Miraculous, still—dispersed still return.

Still Salem renamed, Jerusalem stands.
The faces are still unchanged in this land,
Melchizedek still as ageless of old.
Still fight and defend. A place occupied.

The City of Peace, it stands still amid
The ages of war, uncountable wars;
The casualties rise, no one seems to win,
For victory might be history’s end.