Monthly Archives: July 2011

a Spiral StareWay

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Clouds,  and All

(  right where They should be  )

  

 

then,  as Once,  Again,

and The Eyes of Heaven

embrace the Stillness, 

to gaze upon

a Man, 

One

with no

name or number,

with No Doubt,  of His

Purpose,  with No Rest,

to call His Own,  on

His Knees,

in

His Dory,

The Stars,  Above

and Below Him,  well

beyond The Reach,  of

Men,  and Machine,

Ever rowing,

toward

His,

and All

      Forgiveness . . .

*      *      *      *

and while The Legion of Stars

quietly ponder His Intent,  in The Presence of Their Grace,

listening to The Sigh of an Echo in His Wake,  They see a Place called Earth,

      slowly turning to greet The Day,  and yet pulled by The Fine,  and Silver Thread,  of His Heart . . .

 

 

 

 

from Book III,  The Diamond ( Third Beginning ) The Tenth DoveTale – The Cliffs of Andromeda

 

 

 

 

a Shadow’s Embrace

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Ouroboros

 (  The Blackest,  of Wholes  )

  

 

horrific . . . and

standing there,  stark among The Galaxies,  as

each heaving breath He takes,  draws billions upon billions of Stars

into the swirling Chasm,  of Oblivion . . . His Form,  an immense Nebulae of

what might have been,  lit from within,  by the serpentine Fires of an unnamed Hell,

     emitting vile and virulent Clouds of unrelenting Rage upon The Silence of untold Æons . . .

a vast and terrible Beauty,  a Colossus,  made living by the sheer enormity of Evil,  and Its

dogs He has lain loose upon The Hearts of Men,  for Ever kept rabid,  and ravenous,  by the

merciless Hunger of an old,  deep and insatiable Darkness,  where Angels are doomed to

walk Eternity in the final Abyss of Fear,  and where The Echoes of Empires have gone to

die,  along with Their Suns,  along with Their Sorrows,  unsung,  and unforgiven,  and

unremembered . . . a ruined Aberration of God,  whose purpose is nothing less

than complete,  utter annihilation of The Very Light of All Creation, 

therefore,  alas,  and oh yes,  The Very Essence, 

      of All,  Things,  Dear . . .

 

 

 

(  Chaos,  waits  )

 

 

 

from Book I,  The Ring ( First Light ) The First DoveTale – The Rhythm of Life

 

 

 

A LuminEssence

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as The Days,  enfold The Night

 (  by The Light,  of The Sons  )

  

 

i

Here,  in The BrotherHood of Man,  what matters Most

is The Synchronicity between The Mind,  and The Heart,

and The Endeavors born from The Fruit of that process,

yet there is Nothing more Significant,  than when these

Aspects are so cultivated within The Realm of Purpose,

and whose Abundance is measured,  not by The Yield,

     but in The Quality of The Soil,  from which It has grown . . .

 

 

 

from Book II,  The Sword ( Second Sound ) The Twelfth DoveTale – The Children of The Clouds

 

 

 

 

of Pens, and Swords

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The Vision,  of Purpose

 (  A Dream,  of Excellence  )

  

i

The Tools,  of God’s Design,  is The Art,  of My Creative Hand,

whether to build An Empire,  or The Breath of Life,  from Sand,

I have only to walk with Faith,  and to know,  of All that Can Be,

 for U and I have much to do,  beyond The Eyes of mortal Men, 

       will Ever see . . .

 

 

 

 

from Book II,  The Sword ( Second Sound ) The Eleventh DoveTale – The Chariots of The Sun

 

 

 

 

There, in The Path of Eagles

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The Wind,  knows The Way

 (  Home  )

  

 

setting out on an August Morn,  upon a Path barely revealed amid the waist-high grasses,

walks a boy,  eyes bright with Promise,  and keeping a determined pace,   in hopes of

finding the source of the Voices,  before the Noonday Sun found him,  too far from

      the deep quiet shade of his yard,  now miles distant . . .

this,  his third attempt,  after brief and random excursions well within sight of Home, 

was to be his most daring,  for he had never ventured this far out onto The Downs alone

before,  and without a single Cloud to obscure an endlessly pale-blue Sky,  his loneliness

      had become All the more Complete . . .

high Above,  a chevron,  small and dark to his periodic gaze,  circling in long,  lazy arcs, 

flew an eagle,  there since Daybreak when his Voyage began . . . He longed for just a

Moment,  to share It’s Domain,  to see with It’s Eyes,  to know,  All that lay beyond

      his earthbound View . . .

the last Trace of a Morning’s Dew left It’s Mark upon his passage,  leaving cool and

silvery Trails upon his skin,  reminding him,  of his thirst . . . yet,  before his Thoughts

became a Wish,  he heard The Sound of The Stream,  running Somewhere,  up beyond

       a Rise . . .

as he slowly gave himself,  to The Height of Wonder,  The Splendor fell Away below him

to a wide and verdant Plain,  a Valley,  in The Sun . . . and there,  standing for All to see,

standing along The Shores of The Stream,  standing in The Light,  of All Things Dear,

were The Lilies,  with Hearts as One,  singing,  with Voices as bright as The Dawn,

and with the palms of his hands,  he dries the Tears from his eyes and beholds

The Sight of Ten Thousand Angels,  heralding The Return of Love Again, 

welcoming him to Avalon,  bathing him in Awareness,  that Each

      and Every One,  knows he bears The Name,  of Hope . . .

 

 

from Book I,  The Ring ( First Light ) The Ninth DoveTale – The Windmills of Eden 

 

 

CastleBuilder

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My Father’s Eyes

 (  They cried  )

 

  

through These Windows,  came The Sounds,  of Glory,

of Empires,  and of Legacies,  and A Soldier’s Story,

of Men,  and of Machines,  and of Sacred Things,

     of Honor,  of Courage,  of the Voyages of Kings . . .

through These Pages,  now tattered,  and torn,

came Heralds or Prophets,  Sages were born,

from Dawn,  to Dusk,  came Wonders,  anew,

     over Fields,  and Forests,  Our Destinies flew . . .

through These Gates,  came His Tales of Old,

of Castles,  and Camelot,  and Cities,  of Gold,

of Fame,  and of Fortune,  and Destiny’s Hand,

     of Sons and Swords,  and Monuments,  of Sand . . .

through These Echoes,  so His Stories would tell,

of Legions,  on Battlefields,  Men marching to Hell,

of Gods,  and of Galaxies,  and of Creation,  unknown,

     of The Tides,  and The Times,  when Angels have flown . . .

and through These Moments,  All gathered Here,  and Now,

come The Whispers of Horses,  and His Dreams,  SomeHow,

and No Matter of  His Journey,  not of The Where,  nor The From,

     because,  finally,  Here,  at Hand,  Yes,  His Kingdom,  has Come . . .

 

 

from Book I,  The Ring ( First Light ) The Eleventh DoveTale – The Shelter of Kindness

 

 

and The Fate, of Nations

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from the small matter of our deliverance

(  there,  aRose  )

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      a very big Mistake . . .

 

 

(  and yes,  HereIn lies,  The Destiny,  of Kings  )

 

 

from Book I,  The Ring ( First Light ) The Eleventh DoveTale – The Shelter of Kindness

 

 

 

The Chalice, of Hope

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To Light,  and Life

 (  There,  from Here  )

  

 

walking along The River of Souls,  He shares The Path,  with Patience,

and before The Last Feather of Dawn breaks Free of The Fall of Night,

as Come What May,  smiles,  knowingly,  to So It Might,  He turns to

face The Eyes of Heaven,  His Legion of Stars,  as They pause,

One More Time,  to Witness,  and as Always,  to Wonder, 

of The Glory,  within Them,  and Each,  bowing

Their Head,  in The Presence of Truth,

Each,  laying Their Sword,  at

The Feet of Grace,  when,

at Last,  He whispers,

You,  My Guardians,

Children of The Sun,

Your Journey,  began

in The Thoughts of God,

so There It will come to Rest,

bless This Earth with Love,  Again,

      Always,  for You,  I will Promise,  Their Best . . .

Here,  at Last,  Night is Past,  as Hearts,  begin to mend,

     and Ever,  He turns,  to face The Day,  still walking,  around The Bend . . .

 

 

 

from Book II,  The Sword ( Second Sound ) The First DoveTale – The Fires of Ice

 

 

 

The OurGlass

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The Faith,  of Nations

 (  divided,  They fall  )

  

 

 

Legions of Lords,  Kings,  and Prophets meant,

to plunder The Heart,  and Its Treasures,  spent,

Their Deeds,  disguised,  by a Righteous bent,

mask The Truth,  of Their Soul’s Intent,

and while They wonder,  where

Paradise went,  I,  will

show You,  All

Heaven,

      sent . . .

*   *

*       *

*                   *

*                                  *

*                                                  *

*                                                                *

*                                                                        *

 *                                                                           *

 *                                                                        *

 

 

 

from Book II,  The Sword ( Second Sound ) The First DoveTale – The Fires of Ice

 

 

 

IllumiNations

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Heaven’s Brightest Moment

(  of All  )

 

soft,  and slow, 

 amidst a ConstanSea of Purpose, 

evolving,  unfolding,  as does The ButterFly,

gracefully emerging from The Mists of WoeBeGone,

to Watch,  and

to Witness,

This Night,

fade Away

into Never,

and regard

This Dawn

of Man,  on

 His first Flight

beyond The Realms

of Folly,  and soaring Well,

     and Deep,  into His Change,  of Heart . . .

 

 

 

from Book II,  The Sword ( Second Sound ) The First DoveTale – The Fires of Ice