Que hora es ya?

Time is sometimes unforgiving...


a silent witness to each breath and the convolutions

of our lives.

Spellbound I am...

by the chants of crickets and tree frogs outside my window...

somehow making light of this strange meloncholy that blows

across the windowpane from time to time...

Ultimately, I am becoming more amd more each

day the person I recognize from eons ago.

.....and this reflection is somehow still incomplete...

without you.
 
Gregory

The Crucible and the Flame

They said you walked through these very streets...
now as I close my eyes  -  I can almost hear the sounds ...
the children playing, the dogs barking...the muffled voices in the marketplace.

A dusty blanket seems to cover the village,  like a light-brown cellophane,
riding the breeze from one end of town to the other.
I seem to leave no footprints behind as I walk up the hill...
...the hill where they say you still hang from a tree.

I find myself following a small crowd as they appear to know where they go,
it is then that I see you...
still hanging from the cross...
motionless...still...
and yet....

The old lady whispers to me that he was the son of Mary and Joseph,
she is quick to follow that he is the Promised One..
I stare upon His Face once again....
only this time,
something is different...

Like a Flame that has harnessed my Heart...
burning... the pride, the hatred...the selfish lusts...the fears born of ignorance...
removing the dross to expose the priceless ore...
this crucible,
this all consuming Flame that devours my doubt -
as I watch your Face...

I hear cries and weeping all around me...
the soldiers begin to scream and shout ,
chasing the crowds away for another day.

I hear a soldier say aloud to his comrade,
"is He truly the Savior of the World"?

Walking with the small crowd to the village,
I pause and glance back up the hill...
expecting that you may not still be there...
no...hopeful notions are put to rest...you are still there...

...and yet I know that you will not tarry long there...
as your work is just beginning to bear fruit...

Here....here amongst this very crowd....this town...these cities...
Yes...you have shared the Flame of Love with all that will hear...

and to us,
let us bear your message in our hearts...
for eternity.

The Strings of my Guitar..

These six strings have run their course,
galvnized steel threads lost their voice -
like so many generations before you,
phrases and scales have taken their toll on you....
so now I will return you ultimately to the earth;
only to restring my guitarra with like kind...
I hope.

Gregory

Through the Flame (When I look into your eyes)

I stoke the the embers and another log catches while releasing
another plume of smoke into the night skies...

I see the fire light  dancing upon your face, and in your eyes.
looking through the flames back at me,
and mine pretending not to notice.

In silence...you are asking me questions that I want to answer...
and all the while i too want to ask...

It it true that we are born to love... my friend?
Should we search the hills and valleys for our other?
When do we surrender,  and aquiesce to the
castings of fate?

Or do we?

What do I see in your eyes...eyes I've never seen?
I too wonder who you are...

My vision is born of the Heart...

I see the warmth of a friend ...
whispering assurances that all is well.

I see the beauty of the heavens in all their grandeur,
and pale in comparison to your beauty.

I see two souls alike....
perhaps like the sparks from this fire...
we have taken similiar paths...

I see the flames dancing in your eyes...

....and now I am burning...
like the fire before us.

(Gregory)

Whither will you go?

I see you return to this place each and every season,
always in awe of your creations of mud, thistle and grass.

You scurry about looking for grubs and seeds...
nar' giving me a hint of attention,
or detection.

Your colors are resplendent as the rainbow herself.
and yet sometimes,
much more subtle and sure to amaze.

I break the ground again...
I'm sure you have anticipated this for some time?
... if the machine is beyond repair,
fear not...I will use hoe and rake
to ensure a good Spring planting...

....and of course, plenty of worms.


When this season completes its course,
and the colds winds return...
where will you go?


What plains and valleys will you see?
Rivers and mountains and marshes will be your home once again.
If I stare south of this mountain,
and close mine eyes,
I can go with you...

if only for a little while...

(Gregory)