Trespass

The soles of my feet, my bared knees and forehead

Bend to the earth as do the strands of my hair

Trailing over my cheeks

 

The one good thing about being brought so low

Is not my humility, proofed by drops of my blood

Pooling in the dirt

 

But that I am left only one direction for movement

May the One Who abides in the High Heavens

Help me to rise

 

If I am unseen, ignored, or even abandoned

Perhaps I will be lifted by atonement of my sins

The flood of my tears

 

Sighted by bugs and spiders in their native land

No others will witness my remorse or their toil

More holy than mine

 

Just a thought 77

 

Painting Africa Landscape courtesy Pixabay

 

 

 

 

Forgiveness

Thou shalt forgive, because one day you will need to be forgiven – the forgotten Eleventh Commandment.

This one was written for me.

I will stop cursing you if you stop killing innocent people.

I will remember those who died as they fled. The ones chewing bubble gum, the ones in their letterman jackets, the ones wearing braces, the ones studying for a test, the ones who stuttered when answering, the ones practicing dance steps.

The ones who were always late, the ones who were always on time, the ones with new haircuts, the ones learning code, the ones who played soccer, the ones who cheered, the ones learning Spanish, the ones learning English, the ones painting in art class.

The ones who forgot their homework, the ones writing an essay, the ones practicing flute, the ones struggling with algebra, the ones struggling with verb tenses, the ones who aced chemistry, the ones who nearly graduated. Oh my God, the ones who nearly graduated.

The ones who were crying and frightened.

The ones who died as they hid.

The ones who will never be twenty.

Who will never be twenty.

I will remember their names.

I will not remember your name.

I will forgive.

But sometimes you bastards make it pretty damned hard to forgive.

We’ve all had enough.

Enough already.

 

 

In memory of the students and staff at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida

 

Just a thought 33

 

Photo courtesy Pixabay.com

Resolution

The human species has evolved so far that we no longer live in trees or walk on all fours. Still we hurt each other like primitive savages with words and blows and turning away.

I bellow. You sob. I slash. You fall.

I try but I fail all the time.

I try but I fail all the time.

I regret. I am ashamed. Please forgive me.

It is up to me to make the one individual change that will impact all of you in the best way possible.

My New Year’s resolution is to make a sincere effort.

It’s time for me to walk upright, to open my fist, to forgive everyone, to let you speak, to hear your heart.

I must amend. To amend is a singular characteristic that identifies a human being.

I kneel.

Still, I am naught but one small part.

 

 

Just a thought 24

 

Galaxy image courtesy Pixabay.com

 

 

 

 

Ordinary Grace in a Wild World

Between the strike of the match and the flare of the candle, I’ve written a masterful book in my head and forgotten half of it before my pen could move. Waiting for the computer to rev up, I revised my protagonist’s dilemma but couldn’t recall my brilliant narrative when the blank page begged for words. Driving to work I resolved the plot glitch that had given me fits for the past four months. Finally home, I couldn’t order the words into sensible phrases. Dinner, if made at all, congeals in the microwave, the bills are lost in the “urgent” pile on my desk, I must ready a lesson for tomorrow’s class, and my book waits like the ugly stepsister for her dance with the prince. One more night late to bed, tired in morning to rise, my muse yawns away inspiration with every open mouth. The life of this writer: to think at lightning speed and write at a snail’s pace. To be so busy with everyday chores that the business of writing doesn’t get done on a regular basis.

For all the ordinary problems I confront every day, there are many I needn’t worry about: That a radical vigilante will set our home aflame, forcing my family to become refugees from our own country. That the drug cartels that have made kidnapping a national pastime in some states in Mexico will target my family. That the aids or Ebola viruses rampant in Africa will leave my young grandchildren hungry orphans at the side of road. The unpredictable violence in other countries is a galaxy away from the insulated world of my American household.

The Silent Wail of the Callow Heart

One cannot measure another’s pain

No one can tell why the stranger

Wakes sobbing in the tomb of night

Swerves, driving, distracted with grief, and kills

Beats a loved one swollen, senseless

Shrieks words no ear was ever meant to audit

We, the witness, perhaps the victim

Hear only plaintiff screams of nightmare

See staggered desolation of auto accident

Daub bloody welts and bruises of injured flesh

Calm sobs and whimpers that breach our space