Sunday, October 28, 2007

Christ Lite

The long parade of our betrayal
would likely make a Judas pale.
Good Christ you're vulnerable to this
and we persist, the destination closed.
You're little missed.
Centuries of selling cheap the cross
we scarcely recognize our loss
the fault we proudly find
is not our own.
Blind our unmade eyes
despise the bleeding weakness
that inverts our fondest pose of power
that readies the world for rescue.

Sunday, October 14, 2007

Imago Dei

(Response to Totally Optional Prompts)

In a dreamer's tale is a sack of coins unearthed from his own hearth.
This very hearth reveals surpassing treasure,
coin that breaths at the pine table on kitchen chairs
circled close
brewed in a silver teapot tarnished by season's neglect, by pain
burnished anew in transactions of soul sipped
from chipped cups, elixir that lingers long on memory's tongue.

Today again his gaze glances the soft gleam patina-ed by years of your
heart's tread across this threshold your reflection misted in steam
your word enfleshed fragrant as tea a wetness at the eye's edge.