A poem about Purity

Lord, make me new as the sunrise,
Lord make me pure as the rain,
that I might be as free as the wind,
or honest as pain.

Lord, make me whole as a mountain,
by placing Zion in my heart.
If I wish to walk with you,
I guess I must be set apart.

A life spent chasing the whispers
that reach my heavy ears
would not be a story ruined,
or a waste to all my years.

If now until my death I walk,
in lonely hedgerows before the sun,
I will not say I wished for better,
if at last my race is won.

There are heroes in the stories
that wander, righteous, filled with grief.
Theirs is sadness, theirs is mourning,
in the hours before the dawn.
Theirs is triumph, theirs is laughter,
theirs is love, and endless song.

Something For Valentines Day

My dear,
I recall all the little things,
that made me love you.
None of them make any sense,
like the way you walked
or how you spoke
one cloudy day.

I can also think
of the three big things
that make me think of you:

that you trusted me, when distrust was what I would have done,
that you respected me, when I was not sure if I respected you,
and that you chose to be you, without realizing it. Without pay or reward. 

A Poem for Train Platforms

This poem was found taped to the bottom of a train schedule, and was titled: "For all those standing on train platforms." I believe that the writer was having the first good day he/she/it in a long time.


The storm clouds are tall and black-
I should know, I made them.
lightning snaps like aircraft flakk,
but I close my eyes and ignore them.

Demon faces; all my fears
take shape in the clouds around me.
Though they howl into my ears,
I know I will keep flying. 

The darkness is all that I can feel,
And hope a thing I cannot find,
But I'm your little bird, my God.
And I'll fly blind.

All that seems real is this mountain of steel,
crushing all hope and joy from my mind,
but I'll be your little bird, God.
and I'll fly blind.

I cannot feel your palms cupping around me,
nor your spirit walking before me,
Nor your power, flowing through me.
So I will disregard my 'reality'
and fly,
eyes closed,
a little bird,
in a fake storm,
blind.