Look at you, what do you see?
Do you see a painting or a poetry?
The art in you is such a mystery-
A craft molded from his imagery.
You are a sculpture made of finest stone,
With His own hands that brought you to hone;
You're a unique and precious masterpiece,
Your value does not depreciate.
You're a mighty hand that conquers the winds;
Your thundering voice echoes through the waves;
Your soaring uproar can send back the tides
You're an emperor in your own rights.
You rule across the fields of your destiny;
Your fate is your own chancellery;
You are as mighty as Napoleon
For you have an empire of your own.
You rule across space and time;
You reign within your own realm;
For The Lord gave you His image
So you could rule in peace like sage.
The Lord gave you your dominion,
You command a vessel of your own;
May such vessel steer you to greatness,
May your decrees show forth His prowess.
September 18, 2022
Cathedral
I walk in the cathedral, its vast space
is quiet is like the immense silence
of a deep and gentle snow storm.
light through the stain glass windows glorifies
the sense of peace.
In the distance a book is dropped
the flat echo sounds far and small.
I hear the shuffle of people
in another nave of this place,
they talk one to another
In booming sibilants that make no sense, but echo.
An old woman prays in the pew near me,
We are so very far from the chancellery,
She flashes me looks of scorn.
I feel she knows I don't pray
and has seen I did not genuflect.
High up amongst polished rose wood
I hear slight noises echo as a man
moves papers that he carries.
Very softly, a low sweet sound fills this place
I feel joy and I am full of tears.
The sound stops. silence rings like crystal,
to be fractured by the opening thunder
of the Bach D minor toccata and fugue,
which fills this place and me with sound.
Then I am crying and desolate.
because it is quiet again.
If a place like this can exist does it mean that there is a god.
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