The Secret Room


Moving slowly, with eyes gently closed,

The door is closed once more,

This time bolted, to avoid distractions,

And traffic noise from the outside street.


Now seated, the emptiness seems to engulf me,

As a divine darkness descends like a cloak,

Sealing me off,

So I may concentrate on nothing.


Except the breath of life and its source.

Thank Me


I will give when the IRS gives back,

When I get credit for my philanthropy,

As someone recognizes me as a good person,

Or get my name on a bench,

And the web site. Of course.


Ensuring my glorious gift is raised up,

Because Jesus died to raise us all to another standard.


One I can no longer see.


The Joy of Loneliness

She leaves the driveway once more,

Finally dropping out of sight, as my arm waves less frantically,

Knowing she cannot see it in the mirror any longer,

And must listen carefully for her sad heartbeat,

To feel the loneliness that will endure once again.


A loneliness enwrapped in love, available eternally.


Impossible to comprehend,

The relationship between one and another,

Deepened by love, yet separated by some inconsistent fear;

Of becoming too close,

And breaking thin strands,

Retaining these rivers of blood.


So for now, I keep each strand thin, so as not to lose the connection … of those so beloved.


The Store of Empty


The air is filled with the sounds of desire and anxiety,

Beckoning instant pleasure, or inciting fear to bring us to the store of empty.

Here the telemarketing guys sow the seeds of doubt or self-satisfaction,

Often mixing the ingredients to create both need and greed,

Ensuring we can travel across the road.


From anxiety to fear.