Flight

Warm and full is
Her voice, her call.
Pulling in breath becomes a chore
As she calls to me.

A tenuous, failing grasp
Is my hold to this plane.
Life and death twain,
Pain and joy held in opposite hands.

Take up my spirit
Into thy loving arms
And I'll leave this vessel
With yours to hold our place.

And finally, respite.
Peace of soul--of spirit, of body.
Rest with you in a place
Defying logic and poet's words.

C.R.E.

Song of Wasted Longing

I never was
What she
Needed,
Wanted,
Idealized, or
Loved.
And yet,
She cared for me
As a flower does
Its petals
And stem.
Never realizing the
Difference between
Care and
Love,
I loved her
As a drone
Loves a Queen--
But was availed
Nothing
When she met
A King.

C.R.E.

Us

A thousand eyes,
Spending a thousand days
Staring, critiquing, and tearing
Into my very soul,
Will not see in me
What you'll claim to
With naught more than a glance.

Countless points of dappled light
Will make up the sky above us--
But will blur as I gaze upon
Your seraphic face
Until I cannot distinguish
Where heaven ends
And you begin.

Truly, truly,
This saccharine dream
Will one day peter out
Into something simply
Beyond imagination--
Though to me it still will be
Something ethereal everyday.

Wherever you be,
Whomever you are,
And whatever life you live,
I long for you and the life we'll lead.

C.R.E.

Free

There wasn't any moonlight,
Angels in chorus, or
A brightly burning sky
When your eyes met mine
For the first time, my dear.
I saw fear. And pain long-buried.
I heard gulls cry in a different way
That selfsame day.
No longer did they seem so free,
So light.
Before, they seemed happy
As they floated on currents
Above the foamy sea.
Then, they soared on broken wings,
Calling to others who have lost, have hurt.
Never leaving their bays for fear.
I took you into my heart,
A broken gull,
And nursed you until whole once more.
And here you are still--not trapped, unafraid.
A gull who can leave when she likes,
But chooses simply to stay and stay.

--C.R.E.

One Who Atones

It went from every pore
And washed me cleaner than
The wellspring from before
That also came from Him

The Master's blood was spilt for me
On that dreary April day
So that I would become free
And walk the path His way

I know not where or when I found
My Father and my Brother's Love
But know with a knowledge profound
It had always existed above

It went from every pore
And washed me cleaner than
The wellspring from before
That also came from Him

--C.R.E.

This one needs work. Well, they all do. I'm just pointing it out on this one.

Mirror

A reflective pane tells me nothing
Of the workings of my heart, mind, or soul.
It casts some truth on outer being,
But tells relatively little of the whole.

Who, mirror, am I?
What have I become?
I should act! Should go! But still
In wrenching repose I lie
So utterly undone.

I stare with wonder and despair
Back at myself through treated glass
And wonder if I'll ever dare
To take a step--not simply pass.

A reflective pane brings only pain
As I bear my inaction's shame.

--C.R.E.

A Personal Blog

Here's the address of my personal blog... I felt that I needed to make it.

http://dreamingmywaythrough.blogspot.com/

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