Tuesday, January 18, 2005


And who am I
but complicated and tentative, fragile faith
protected by easy and confident cynicism.
Cutting wit and sharp sarcasm
are the sphinxes guarding the secret of this trembling soul
against the ignorant bruisings
of the careless and unintentional tourist.

Here beneath this tundral surface,
would you dare to suppose
that belief runs,
burning through these veins and
exhaling deep breaths
across the verdant landscape of faith and love?
Would you dare to know that
this doubt that cries out loudly
is truly a voice from the deepest well of belief?
Would you dare to discount this harmless facade
to touch the truth shining just beneath the surface?

Yet and still I turn away
so as not to see your eyes seeing me.
Pale, thin fear that you will;
sharp, desperate anger that you won't.
And what then?
Who would have the courage
to step beyond this circle of carefully constructed certainty
and touch the truth that burns within?

I ask because I believe in love.
Every day to the altar I bring my offering
and place upon the fire
my sacrifice of anger
of hate
of pain.
Every day I bring these offerings
to the altar of love.
Burn them up.
Because I believe in love.
Take them away.
I believe in love.
Take this knowledge of pain
and turn it into strength.
I believe in love.
Take this knowledge of hate
and turn it into compassion.
I believe in love.

(Another old piece, slightly reworked and tightened up. Might play with it some more. Hee! I sure had a penchant for earnestness and declaration 10 years ago!)

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