little wisdoms

A great forest of faith
green trees bend in winds, deep
roots from little wisdom's grow 

The seed within finds its way
to the sun, giver of all wont.
Yet we savor momentary wealth,
stealth and power-lust fill
such short days given.

Love and loss, the Janus-face
of the heart; the gifts we take;
ungrateful turns of eyes meant
to find beauty...drip,by drip we learn
fire burns but not so deeply as the thorn
near the rose of given care...

did i carelessly waste precious breath
did i spill the goblet of her given spirit

life has
a lash of many strings
but the deepest sting
is the stroke
of forgiveness

Mãe e sussurros ( Mother and whispers)

A vivid wander in the apse,  

an ancient cathedral breathes incense.

The moaned prayers for so many dead

re-echo and sound old pain anew.

How can we forget for a moment;

how does laughter yet rise from

the fullness of our quaking sides?

When the spirit-calls of emptiness--

of cloaked leavings, hidden 

in the silent roar of  grief--

rises like a quick flood in over-soaked ground.

It is always there, the want for those few

we miss in so many times.

Some scars close without healing

for we remember the deep rent and tear.

It phantoms to persist and exist

when we cannot do anything more

than close the sting in the eyes