The Boarder

a house has rooms we never see,
forbidden but to have a quest,
when in the ones we know to be,
an undertow of never-rest,

no one waits behind the doors,
shapes and sizes by the scores,
risk a peek, hold the knob,
greet the sun, it's just a job,

employed to dwell the inner lair,
to clean, to sweep, to hold forth order,
confine the heart, don't let it bare,
rent the space, feed the boarder,

a house has rooms we never see,
wherein the owner's known to be,
forbidden but to be a guest,
alone in company's behest.

Childish Things

I remember Jesus,
When He was just a boy,
He taught me how to laugh and sing,
And care with all my joy,

I told my friends what He told me,
They jeered to wound with every name,
No Beauty raised above the grave,
No dreams untamed, He was to blame,

I threw away those childish things,
Closed eyes to plod the stone,
Somewhere along, the boy gave up,
I took my place, the man had grown,

I remember Jesus,
When they finally brought His rue,
He looked at me, my blood froze still,
I guess He grew up too.

Without You

without you
so deep
so everywhere
the kind
that makes
s t r e t c h
to an infinity
of wishing you were here

Poetry Page