Vow of Silence

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The Hurting

Didn’t know how broken the glass in hand truly was

Fractures barely discernible…

Seemed clear enough

Drank liberally from it many a time with no second thought

Then one day the bleed began

Started as a tincture secreted from saliva glands

Progressed from top to bottom

Drool to stool

Stains and droplets

To clots…

But life won’t stand still even for those who bleed

Nothing taken for granted

No gift given without a need

Tend to business at hand back-logged piled in a heap

Or burn it all down

Tell one’s self…

Fallen beneath tracks, beneath notice

Couldn’t have possibly meant enough to keep

Let go of reflections

The sword unsheathed in anger will be the same

fallen upon

Release the clutch

Let the glass drop

Hear it shatter

Feel shards and splinters spraying ankles

Pick away the pieces

Careful not to become imbedded in soles of feet

Face down…

The demons

Face down in brokenness

Bleed…

Tend to the feet

All the rest beyond grasp

Rely and trust

Upon a shine that must still exist

Somewhere…

between top and bottom

Centered within greater clarity now

 Scouring the rust

Suicide On Anger Road

Always seated in the back of the class
Yet still heart pounded, hands sweated…trembled
When teacher took leave of His chair
To walk among us…
Searching for volunteers

Thoughts of dread flashed through my mind
Anxiety, shortness of breath…
Lump in my throat
Pounding in my head
As reluctantly, fearfully…
Ink flows across a page
Until the pen clogs
I shake it down only to find
A Rorschach test…incidental
(don’t call on me…please not me…)
So great a distance from here to there
How long must this torment be endured?

Can’t You see the hands raised of those more eager to please?
Why search so diligently
Whilst there be willing volunteers?
Feint of heart, weak of flesh not even willing…
Though I shout “unclean!, unclean!
Yet You draw near
Take to the hills of a faraway land
Place distance between self and fear of You
Where it is safe for broken child
To transition into angry broken man
Decades later return to find
Along with anger…
So too followed broken heart, confusion and broken mind

Every flashing light…
Every car alarm or nearby siren
Made me cower…
Made me hide…
On the veneer false bravado…
But…living a marginal life fractured, distracted, apprehensive
Feeling hunted like prey on the inside
Years without change
Pass like days 
But Teacher is insistent
Teacher is patient
Teacher is kind
Teacher never abandoned
Hands clasped behind Him…
In a knowing slow purposeful stroll of the wise…
Teacher was just biding His time 
Once more He’ll take leave of His seat
To walk among us…
“Anthony…come hither” 
Such a common name, I think to myself
Could be any one of many, certainly not i?
I cannot avert His gaze…
In defiance fall dead by my own hand
“My hand?”
Was never truly my own but His
And by His hand…
My hand is raised.

Inflected Vision

INFLECTED VISION
I look through my reflection in a window
A transparency of me stares back
As i gaze into the world outside
Save for the sound of thawing snow dripping from the eaves…
The night is calm
From my restless slumber did I awake?
The warmth of my lover’s side did I forsake?
To stare at nothing?
To peer into myself?
Or perhaps to create an illusion in my mind to substitute
For something…
Imagined…
Felt…
 Missing?
I stood before “self”
Entranced…
Compelled to look out through my reflection…
Overlooking…
My e-v-e-r-y imperfection
As if searching for something lost
As though…
Some elusive panacea lay…
In the shadowy realms beyond
And it occurs to me…
That with equal intensity
In the cold dark night…
Through hungry eyes…
My reflection,
IS LOOKING IN!
(Written 1995 A.Gomez)
___________________
doveTo one who has faith, no explanation is necessary. To one without faith, no explanation is possible.”
– Thomas Aquinas

God Bless

Eagle Trimming

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He still does it
The old bird
Leaves the lake
And good fishing
Watches his reflection
Black and white
Distancing itself
From happy blue
Wavelets
Up and up
Those aerials helping.
Trees passed
In the ascent
Barren rocks the target
And fasting
And scraping of the beak
Fresh and new and sharp
And thinking oft
Of clouds and airways
Way overhead
Seemingly unreachable
Without Creator’s uplift.
How much time there
In the refining
Not the bird’s call certainly
But the waiting
And the watching
Both good.