Sonnettics

His hill is high and holy, firm and green
Who climbs to stand in such a holy place?
Who’s hearts are pure, who’s hands are spotless, clean?
Who seeks to know their God, to see his face?
His hill he first ascended when he rose
And those who follow one day too shall rise
With songs of joy, with poetry and prose
Hosanna! at the heart of all their cries.
They shall receive the blessing from the Lord
His righteousness, salvation by his grace
A fount on every blessed soul is poured
Who climbs to stand upon this holy place
This high and holy hill, both firm and green
Where every heart is pure and hand is clean.

As bright as spring expressed within a rose
In quiet tones of pink and green and gold
A bursting bud as winter’s drawn to close
A life reborn transcends forgotten cold
My love is this; my love is more than this
She radiates a warmth from heart and breast
And all the color of my Easter kiss
Is deeply on her flushing cheek expressed
She waits for spring no more; it comes to her
And settles on her heaven’s brightest ray
A light, a love that’s golden, warm and pure
Announcing that it’s found a brand new day
The sun stands still; she feels her moving son
Where spring and love and life have just begun

When Hope was born she filled our lives with joy,
A gift from God we loved and loved her more.
Our Hope was beauty nothing could destroy,
Angelic in our arms while we’d adore
Her perfect mouth and dream of songs she’d sing,
Her perfect eyes reflecting Perfect Light,
Her perfect hands, the flowers they would bring;
Our perfect Hope was promise, pure and bright.
But Hope was lost beyond our deepest grief,
And promise bright and pure was veiled in black.
Our Hope was stolen by the mortal thief,
And all our tears could never bring her back.
But Hope has found perfection’s perfect place;
In Christ our Hope’s alive by Godly Grace.

I felt like god from eighteen stories high
above St. Paul the winter that I died.
I didn’t jump; to jump would be to fly.
But pieces of me fell each night I cried.
And on the nights when I was smooth as glass,
while framed in darkness, focused on one light,
I felt the time, the time that wouldn’t pass,
and watched the sinners from my godly height.
Below me in the park they bought and sold
their chemicals to ease their bodies pain.
Their cloudy breath proclaimed the living cold.
Some nights it snowed, some nights just freezing rain.
Epiphany was all the help I sought;
but death and god was all the help I got.

It’s good to feel your finger on my lips,
a sign to keep me quiet, or a touch
of love inviting me to take you in
and kiss the smallest offering of you.
This token is more delicate than peace,
it moves my doubt, but only side to side.
Unsure, I close my eyes and cast my mind
to words you’ve left as unintended clues.
Un-pressed the moment that I think I know
why simple touches bear a steady pulse,
the taste un-lingered causes me to draw
response as automatic as my love.
They flow from words, desires, visions, dreams,
and mark their time unhesitatingly.

If I could cup my hand behind your neck
and lay you down to rest, curled in my lap.
I’d have no expectation but the feel
of soft hair in my steady hand. You’d sleep;
I’d sing until your eyes were closed, your breath
was deep.  My only expectation then
would be to stare my love into your dreams.
You’d go to peaceful places void of all
the expectations in the mundane world.
And once your soul and body found the rest
they need, I’d watch you wake; I’d stroke your hair.
My final expectation then would be
to see the blue I know within your eyes
and touch my lips upon your waking lips.

Are you the one who’s come to take me back
to all the places where I may have been
when I was young, before I felt the lack
of love I longed for time and time again?
And in those places of my former youth
will you be there to soothe me when I cry
while overcome by nothing but the truth,
and hold my hand as days and nights go by?
The truth that life is full of emptiness
will light the night like half a waning moon,
and I will need your simple tenderness
to keep my heart from darkening too soon.
And when I have to face the deep abyss,
I know I won’t return without your kiss.

Assure me once, then reassure my heart;
it’s not that we’ve forgotten how you love.
And oh, my dear, you know when we’re apart
assurances aren’t all I’m thinking of.
Your hair, my dear, is foremost on my mind.
Okay, okay, it isn’t just your hair;
it’s kissing it while we are intertwined.
I know, I know, to say so isn’t fair.
I’m sure your hair will linger like a scent,
and then your lips will take their rightful place,
both first and last in action and intent
as in my mind you turn to face my face.
And then I’ll feel that I’ve been reassured,
although you won’t have said a single word.

The strength of my serenity is weak;
the weakness of my love, a lonely gift.
The voice within my silence needs to speak
the words my heavy heart can’t seem to lift:
intensity is not my lover’s crime;
insanity is not my final cry;
futility is just a waste of time;
serenity must find the strength to try.
And if it fails, the moon has failed as well;
it wanes and disappears from earthly sight,
and yet unseen it casts a steady spell,
and oceans ebb and flow beneath its might.
And though at times I too may be unseen,
I’ll pull you back to me with love serene.

The night released the light of half a moon
as half her stars went rushing from the black
illuminated curtain, drawn too soon,
too late to pull the passion slowly back.
The clouds were burning slowly, but with flair.
An upward glance revealed unguarded bliss.
The canopy above a wooden stair,
descended for a final goodnight kiss.
Her perfume filled the darkness, deep and cool;
her hair was in the wind and in my mind.
I walked along a slope, beside a pool,
but only thought of beauty left behind.
While half a moon and half the stars revealed
a brighter love that could not be concealed.