Her Presence always was a quiet glow,
A morning all the day, and through the night.
And, while she slept, white radiance did show
Uplifted from the earth, her form grown light.
Like her, Spring spills forth waking on all things,
On sleeping hills, on nascent pomegranate,
On curling bear-cub, everything that sings!
And curled-up leaves, yawn, stretch, embrace bright planet!
There is an Allness, newly on the air
That lacked before... a Presence of Christ rises
And wicked things come over, once laid bare
To new humility, which small things prizes.
Like her, Spring gently calls a man, 'Awake!'
Who always let her sleep, for Love's sweet sake.
In the order of this world
A day is born with sunrise and sunset
Is there a world that has itself
and not one to live in it?
Is there a language that has all words
Except life, care and concern?
Oh! Come I shall show you my next bud
Here is all life, all happiness, all wealth, and all weather
All ‘allness’; except yourself and your life
Tell mom that you have lived another day
That a ray of hope still survives
Show your sister this token of gift of Life I give you
That I am to die and you are to live
For one’s death is other’s life
There isn’t anyone to aid us
So let me die for our mean cause
To live
Oh! To survive in deed.
Break forth into joy
That you live another day
And into tears; to die another day
All Hail! All Praise! All glory!
Die another Day!
I can't complain at all
Even when television sound
Floods through every crevice
When the mind is pulled in each direction
Over the sound, not to mention the carpet,
Comedy dries out in the dull, hopeless present,
Still, you feel trapped
In the not complaining at allness
When the standard for yourself
Becomes so high an undefined
It seems to evaporate entirely,
Tell me, you: what were you suppose to be doing now?
In your closer to perfect circumstance?
In what parallel life are you grabbing the moments
And in your hands
Through your veins, the very aura of life
Becomes joyous energy?
Why this phantom burden?
After all,
You can't complain at all.
And even if you did
You'd feel childish,
Less than this holy, objective sum.
For the slipping fact is
You're always more
Than the whole moment before.
The mind saddens as it grows,
As a child's loving gaze
Grows soft on favorite shoes
Worn
And outgrown.
Tomorrow's new pair awaits.
A new world to be met.
To complain is a failure
To look ahead.