Thus I Wrote

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Posts Tagged ‘prayer

Lo, There do I see my Father

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Lo There do I see my Father

I don’t like it much
The destruction, division and deceit
Does that make me
One of the Liberal Elite?

I don’t like it much
All the insults & the lack of respect
Does that make me
Too Politically Correct?

I don’t like it much
The noise all around
All the ignorance and the lies
Empty vessels make most sound

There’s never enough time under the sun
We all leave this place with much undone
With visceral feelings of roads not taken
But we’re not alone and we’re not forsaken

Lo, There do I see my Father
Lo, There do I see my Mother
And My Sisters and my Brothers
Lo, There do I see the line
Of my people back in time
Lo, There do they call to me
To take my place in the halls of Eternity
Where our enemies have been vanquished
Where the brave shall live forever
Where the truth shall reign
Where there’s beauty and no pain
Where we shall not mourn but rejoice
For we have lived a good life

I’ve squandered days with plans of future plays
I’ve not planned this I tell, & I vow to live what’s left well
For all I ought to have thought, and have not thought;
For all I ought to have said, and have not said;
For all I ought to have done, and have not done;
I ask for forgiveness.


Written by thus.i.wrote

December 20, 2017 at 3:12 pm

The Mansions of the Dead

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Mansions of the Dead 1932 by Paul Nash 1889-1946

I awoke and rose above
The detritus of the night
Half-remembered dreams
In the anxious half-light
I heard silent whispers
In the candlelight as they fed
I saw the forgotten many
In the mansions of the dead

I watched her as she talked
I saw her emotions flicker
I thought and wondered why?
Do her angels and demons bicker?
I see a cloud of sadness float by
I wondered what does it teach?
What hand is on her shoulder?
And from where does it reach?

In the night I feel her
Breathing love and affection
Her legs curl around mine
Does she seek my protection
My prayers rise like incense
Quietly above her head
As she searches for the answers
In the mansions of the dead

Written by thus.i.wrote

January 18, 2017 at 1:27 pm

Two Candles in Berlin

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I lit two candles for Lana,
There, in snowy Berlin,
My prayers mingled with the smoke,
That rose in the quiet space therein.

I get impatient,
Trying to connect true,
When games get in the way,
Of what is beautiful in you.
I wanted you to be real,
I don’t like false layers,
But I know I asked too much,
So my patience was my prayer.

Lana, I think you’re unhappy
You know how to survive,
How to protect yourself,
And to economically thrive.
But love is much misunderstood,
Have you ever known real love?
One that nurtures and grows,
Signified by that dove?
You were an intelligent, sensitive child,
Lost in a big boisterous family,
In a rough, striving environment,
Who listened to you intently?
Did you grow too hard a shell?
To protect yourself in there?
I wonder at your loneliness
So your happiness was my prayer.