The Stars Knew That...

I looked out the window and saw my reflection over the world beyond
I didn’t much care for it.
I strained to see the street, the courtyard, the stars, the trees beyond
To no avail: my own reflection blocked my view
The air conditioner hummed, and I sat, and looked for inspiration
Finding none, my gaze returned to my reflection, and I sneered.
It sneered back. How could it not?
I did not want to see myself, but as I looked into its eyes, I stopped.
I laughed, and stepped aside, and looked upon the world, and saw not ‘me’
The night was clear, the stars shone bright, and cars were passing in the road
And all the night went on.
You can’t see truth by your own light: the stars knew that.
I didn’t.

More Relevant Now

Mark Twain's War Prayer:

O Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth to battle -- be Thou near them! With them -- in spirit -- we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe.

O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it -- for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet!

We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts.

Amen.

Looking Back

Hard, dull, cracked brown bark;
Green, green moss growing in the cracks;
An old child’s tree-house falling off it,
Boards rotten through and soggy with rain;
The old tree looms large in memory,
But it’s less large here looking at it..

Beneath a dreary February sky,
The withered old tree, covered
in new leaves
and fragrant, white flowers.

Birdsong

Two men walking down the road,
And each not unfamiliar with such company,
Heard a birdsong drifting through sun-dappled leaves
Of stately birches there on either side.
“Now there’s a happy bird,” one said.
“He’s being territorial,” the other replied.

The Blackberry Patch

Patch of blackberry bushes
Sound of water in the creek
Cool breeze on a warm day
Sweat beading on my forehead
fingers, juice-stained
hands, thorn-torn
Sweetness stolen from a prickly, harsh, unyielding thing