Paths Cross
...at the underpass...
where the road divides
and so aptly illustrates
our tiered hierarchy
...expressed against
the stars...
Who rides above,
and who slips below....
Who skims the middle,
....Like an un-committed Sinner?
I’ll be the One...
the thumb on the side
...the crime to watch
as Some Day
rolls on by...
A screeching halt
falls at deaf feet...
all this wondering
...dead-ended in a
blind allied sweep...
A sign of the Cross...
posted past the Stop
....is where I see:
the faded remnants
of some One
taking off...
Wax Paper
The translucency of wax paper.
The colors and shadows blur so that
The paper becomes a collage.
A collage of everything I know.
You can’t tell what the shapes are,
Or what they mean, but you can
Turn the colors into art.
Just the way the light shines
Through the backyard window
Is enough to make the atheist
Believe in the beauty of God.
Icicle
I stood from my icy chair of ice. Cold as the blood, as the mind. Living eternally within the ice cave, only 4 pillars of ice in all 4 directions and a roof it holds. Could see clearly the world outside, but stuck within this hole. A thick ice wall pure, so pure, that the mirrors of all miracles would shut themselves shy. The wall, the veil. The veil that unveileth, unveileth the world outside, yet a prison.
Translucent is my vision, my world, within this icicle prison.