the author of authenticity
(rediscovering some older poems that still have a voice, at least to me…)
Driving my body
to God-knows-where
away from the frost-bitten
chill in the air
where greatest intentions
hang still like the daggers
of crystallized ice
all pointed and jaggered
tears dropping along
the sharp edges that slash
away hopes in my flesh
like the snow, like the ash
from the fire that torches
desire and the sun
that laps at my heels
as i stumble to run
from the cold and the chill
that has frozen the life
that continues to burn
within me, within strife
under layers of frost
an ember of truth
sparks my heart and my lips
with language uncouth
sings notes of forgiveness
like teardrops of healing
to an unworthy soul
incapable of feeling
revealing, releasing
the shame of offending
repeating offenders
on whom i’m depending
to hear me, respect me
accept me, i pray
and stay with me here
in my darkened dismay
but i cling onto them
like static electricity
and cling to myself
and my soul’s eccentricity
intentions start freezing
in tense multiplicity
as i cry to the Author
of authenticity...