Finitude Infinitum

A memory like Texas thunder
Flashed behind my eye
Where long ago, a camp light
Flickered red on mountain sky

To seem as though but yesterday
Yet seem another life
Is mystery and commonplace
Profound, yet somehow trite

For times of youth seem far and lost
Upon a distant shoal
Still I am young—or so they say
Who cannot read the soul

All silvered, lined, and travel burned
Beneath a thousand suns
And yet for all my lives it seems
I’ve hardly lived this one

The paths I paced, long overgrown
Seem winding on and on
And yet for all my wandering
I’ve only scarce begun

And as the film rolls on and on
The scenes seem prior watched
And all associations seem
To bear a common plot

Familiar meetings, small talk words
Familiar long farewells
Cathedral towers echoing
The same familiar bells

My flesh and bone in slow decay
As time does heedless bend
Yet still my spirit knows no age
And comprehends no end

Are not we scarcely born
Before our dust slips to the breeze?
Are not our timelines running short
Where once they could not cease?

Eternity burns in the rib cage
Fire in the soul
To clear the road my dreams must tread
My eager feet must go

I’ve just begun to breathe the sky
These lungs have hardly grown
Yet heaved far many a broken hope
Than some may ever know

My mind within so altered
Yet the same—the child, the world
Intent to meet both gale & glow
With sails atop unfurled

So many paths lie undisturbed
And many a land unmet
My eyes have yet to drink the sea
For I have hardly lived



“Love is as strong as death, Jealousy as cruel as the grave; Its flames are flames of fire, A most vehement flame.”‭‭  Song of Solomon‬ ‭8:6‬ ‭


Stale unwanted essence
Seeping grimy through these ribs
Gasping, shallow
Gasping, shallow

Even thoughts are ghostly fingers
Grasping shadows
Shallow, deep

Where the worm eats out the core
Of rotten embers
Rotting deep

Shake it free
The rotten ember
All the stale unwanted grease

Burn the shadows
Burn the shadows

Jealousy is a cruel disease


Mockingbird Moon

What if poets are prophets–the mouthpiece of gods?
And the songwriter pens as a spirit nods
To the beat of a rhythm from other worlds
In the womb of creation beyond

Is all art but the cry of a mockingbird
To a song that the heavens have sung?
Can a man be the author or merely a channel
Through which other authorship runs?

What if we are but moons to a brighter sun
And our boasted inventions are borrowed ones?
Who can say as new melody bursts on the mind
My ears are the first to have heard

If some things we imagine we’ve fashioned ourselves
Are but morsels passed down to mere men
We’ll forever be echoing songs they have sung
And thinking their thoughts after them

Remember Love


Over the course of perhaps two years, the seasons (like my life) waxed and waned with inscrutable contradiction. It had remained warm throughout the winter that year, only to turn cold in the spring.

As occurs with many things, time at last revealed answers to the unanswered—another painful mercy. Yet for so long, it would remain no more than wistful memory.


I came here to remember love
The hillside meadow lane
To hillside meadow, I have come again
For I remember love

It was just here I slipped from shoes
And ran beneath his gaze
It’s overgrown now
Overgrown with weeds
But soft as vapor then
Like every glance

My hands plunge deeper
As the cold expands within
Beyond my pockets
It was warm then
But the season had to pass
Away, away

My thoughts fly through that day
The cautious carefree moment
Here we bowed
And here the sun set
On our lengthy earnest plea
Remember love?

A prayer unanswered
Not a prayer denied or lost
Just inexplicable
Like winter’s warmth
And springtime’s chill this year

Came not to question
But to reminisce
With grateful aching thoughts
And in the solitude of silence
Let my soul remember love

Contemplating Clouds

IMG_6301.JPGIt was one of those balmy southern afternoons, when sprawled in the park with my face to the sky, this piece of free verse was inspired.
My drifting mind and glutted senses turned as they often do, to somewhat ontological musings (for lack of a better term). And in spite of my finite bewilderment, these settled deeper and farther beyond the realm of the observed.
They are concepts and subjects so common, even reduced to cliche, yet it is the naked essence of these realities that boggle the pensive mind. And at the end of all analysis, one continues to simply sit in speechless awe amid a myriad unanswered questions which in such cases, somehow make faith more beautiful.


Full of inadequacy

Full of meaning
Lacks expression

What is prayer
When words are failing?

And my longing

Drinking in the atmosphere
The atmosphere, so near

Here am I
All solitary now
And contemplating clouds

I feel my nothingness
My worth

You left it all
And came for me
But what is heaven?

Finite mind,
You cannot grasp
You cannot fathom

Speaks of Love
So deep, so strong
Oh, what is love?

So near,
So far away
You dwell within
You reign

Oh, what is God?
I cannot know
I long to know