Drifting Along

As we drift
Along the surface
Of the LIGHT of this present world

We are but
Infinitesimal specks
Gathering dust
To ourselves
As if gold.
Not half as glorious
As we had hoped and
Yet grander then
The simple strands
Our prayers and
Groans would betray.

We rise
Like incense
And are gone -
Only a faint aroma
Of sweetness and
Beauty lingers on the
Boundlessness on the
Trails of time
And space - the rest
Is just the afterburn
Of the resin
On the coals.

And the LIGHT
Goes on, and on
Burning so bright
As to appear as utter darkness.

Bounded rapture of the full
Surround; a blind man
Wrapped in what he
Cannot see,
A wiseman standing
Amid that which he
Cannot understand.

Only warmth.

Beeswax Candles at Vespers

A brokenness in my body
at the end of the day
weakly calls to weakness
asking for a silent peace
to attend my way.

O God make speed
to save,
O LORD make haste
to help us.

Incense rises
on some altar
daises in the
islands of
Greece,
on the Holy Mountain,
and at Sinai.

I hear the crackle
of the candle flame, slowly
hissing as it burns
the beeswax up and
through the wick.

As wax melts from
the fire, may those
who hate THEE flee from
before Your throne.

Words rise up,
all over the world,
as day comes to rest
in the evening
vesperal light.

O Gladsome Light,
sing on from the
fourth century,
call our hearts
in the groan that is a
chant and a cry.

Now lettest
Thou Thy servant
depart in peace,
according
to THY word.

TJM+

O God, Come to my Assistance

Everyday
the church cries
out the same
simple notes

the same
cry of
the heart

oh God,
come to my assistance

oh LORD,
make haste to help me.

Centuries turn
on centuries
and words and hearts clamber
to be seen,
clamber to be heard.

Can I make my
words climb
to heaven.

Can I strain
my song
enough to
be heard.

It is in the
quietude and
simplicity
of the chant

that its sound
echoes
throughout the
ages -

through all eternity.

It is in the
beating of the heart
and its feeling
that these words,
this hymn,
this chant

are carried
aloft
to the ONE

that MYSTERIUM
TREMENDUM.

They
are the words
that feed our GOD;

the words
that nourish
our LORD.

_____

Peace,

+Tom

Morning Prayer

The cool stillness
of the morning abbey
soaks the prayers into
me as warmth and heat.

There is a pause, here;
there is a pause
between the words,
between the lines
of mourning;
the lines of prayer;
the lines of beseeching.

I used to think the words were the
prayer; today, and perhaps
through all time,
it is the pause.