A Poem Forgotten

What becomes of a poem forgotten
That hasn't quite been written down?
Are words gone forever, or were they ever?
Or do they all just fall in a mound?

Decaying, yet enriching the soul that forgot them
A compost of thoughts, meter, and rhyme
Preparing the way for the depth of emotion
A poem requires to last all of time.

Edge of Gold

I opened up my bible after
Far too long had long since past
And came to quickly realize
That a soul can quickly rust

Protect your soul from collecting dust
Prayer is like an edge of gold
In God place your deepest trust
So your faith will n'er grow old.

Is it wrong to think you're beautiful?
Is it wrong to feel your pull?
Is it wrong to want to be your friend?
Is it wrong to love your soul?

At the end

And
At the end
We lie on our beds in the dark
Gazing towards the heavens
Thinking aloud in silence

It is then we realize infinity is naught
and God is real

Our souls pour out to the darkness
To the Light

We pray

To the one who Loves us
We give love
Worship and Praise
Ask forgiveness and try to make sense of the world
We talk to our father

Conscious fades and we are transported
To a world of dreams
Where we taste Heaven
And Hell

We are shaped every night
By our time with God

We are His image
Angels know not

And
At the end
We lie on our beds in the dark
Gazing towards the heavens
Thinking aloud in silence

silent memories

I sit here alone with no one to talk to.
Silence of heartbeats and whispers of soul.
Companions are daydreams that certainly aren't you.
But can memories really console?

Memories make the silence less silent.
Like Dante's Beatrice, they are just a sign
Until the time I next see you again
Pointing to beauty and love divine.

Everlasting Song

I wrote you a song
With images fair
Of beautiful eyes,
Long golden hair

Of beauty of souls,
Noblest minds
Perfection of pathos,
Hearts that are kind.

The words never change
Their images mirror
perfection in heav'n
incorp'rated here.

The deep tearing pain
My tears now show;
The reason you changed
I never will know.

Or maybe it's me?
And I'm in the wrong?
I guess time will answer
When you hear my song.

The Strength of God

I have always liked to think
That God made things with fashioned wood.
A carpenter, a manly man
His build was strong, his work was good.

In pictures Christ is never shown
As a dark and burly stud,
But in truth this strong man came
For me, a wretch, to shed his blood.

Brothers Karamazov

In the study of rhetoric, there are three things you can appeal to; Logos, which is logic, Ethos, which is ethics or morality, and Pathos, which is the appeal to the emotions. These make up the entire human being, and thus Rhetoricians of old said to appeal to the whole man. I was reading Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov and I noticed that each of the three brothers correspond to the three appeals of rhetoric. We begin the book meeting Ivan, who is a rationalist, Dimitri, who is a sensualist, and Alyosha a monk, who is a moralist. Dostoevsky speaks to the whole man, not just the intellect, like a technical manual, or to the emotions, like a soap opera, but to the mind, heart, and soul of the reader. The conflicts between the three characters ring familiar the conflict inside us. I learned a lot about myself, while reading. The situations and episodes are unlike most anything that I’ve experienced, but he presents them in a way most like everything. He creates a reality quite real. A part of me left me when I finished the book, because it affected the whole of me. I was almost sad to leave a world so real. I think I may go visit again sometime. :-)