by Paula Larson |
Tempests rising in contralto's wing,
a voice that costs me all I am
is sin's and its resolve, the tool of men
that wielding hold Faith's honor in their fling!
And that I see this scourge in one I love
I can't but risk my Spirit through this drove,
of narrowing my space, the conscience less
as when I ask for truth am given stress!
But of my life hereon this Earth I gain
but sufferance cure a trust with thee remain
as giving all of self to thy abstain
I find your Soul in Him, my love ...again!
by Anais vionet |
angel, desire, forgiveness, heaven, love, teen,
Do angels, those exchequers
of heaven’s golden shores,
have hearts or humor
as they focus on us with
their greedy, eternal attention?
They must be well-acquainted
with vice and the offending elements
of our ingrained, mortal weaknesses.
I’ve read those frampold canaries
- at man’s creation - coveted the gift
of choice, cruelly denied them - freedoms
that can corrupt the weak and too human.
How do those singers of exquisite songs
still find worthy peers to invite home
unless they pity, forgive or grant
endless sufferance which must,
at least in practice, resemble love.