untitled poem

At the request of Neugeski One, here's something from around Dec 22, 2007. IIRC I had been reading Ishmael Beah's A Long Way Gone around then. Definitely more visual than spoken, and could use some work.

watching children die
     and then kill
maybe now I understand my parents
     even less
is this the road home
                     ?
like feathers
   falling to the floor
we flit away when hands draw near
   then resume our dreary fear-laced
                                   descent;
hands
might             oil
care,          about
or might care only
surrender, stupid or beautiful,
                  lies or lies naked
before shame

Easter poem

Hi, everyone. This is a poem-prayer of thanksgiving that came to me
one sleepless night this week. This is a bit out of the ordinary for
me. Hopefully it's worth the reading time for you. It's called, "Our
brokenness is precious, then where are you?"

You knew us.

You became like us, hoping the same,
  from the smelly, slobbery, toddling beginning:
    "Whoever receives a child like this in my name receives me,"
  through the harsh canyon of uncomprehending, utterly hopeless despair:
    "My God, my own Father, why have you abandoned me?"
  to the ever-untimely ending.

Your broken body...breathed anew!
  so that hundreds would live, and die
  so that ten-thousands would live, and...

Your blood,
  the richest mixture of dirt and life,
  transfusing into the story of your bride,
  whose body knows
    the most fantastic, ridiculous redemptions, and
    the most filthy, gangrenous hypocrisies.

You know us.
Our story.
You're with us.
We're in it.
"It's not done."

Amen.