Cry of the Stars

I'm born of wind and water,
rising slow against
horizons restless with my brothers.
The ones who go before me
die, and fall back silent, flat,
and I must crawl atop
their ghostly tugging, crying to me:
go back if you can!

and still
I fight to reach the shore.

I'm tall for just a moment--
then I break in half,
crashing down
fast.
My roar against the ground
is quickly but a whisper,
and the churning of my dying rage
melts quickly
into spots of foam.

I tug around your ankles,
calling to you:
come with me if you can!

but you will only stand there firm,
a smile on your face,
your burning feet cooling
in the remnants of my pain.

Of bitter memories I drank too deep
and found cold comfort in the acid taste.
There, bare-faced ghosts were open in their haste
to let our friendship sink into death's sleep,
as if I'd yield a treasure (theirs to reap)
but after harvest, naught to them but waste.
--Your smile widens on a stranger's face,
whose laughter echoes somewhere far from me.

I wonder if I made a grave mistake,
when I into my bitter mind withdrew
and held those past unspoken rules as law:
That smile's true enough to swell the ache
in my heart's dusty corner (kept for you),
and something frozen in me yearns to thaw.

sacred salvation
sempiternal, sufficent
such sovereignty

Raindrops pouring from
my fingertips
and thunder rumbling from
the keys below,
beat for beat
my music matches nature's,
as the notes drop heavy
on my hungry heart,
and the storm outside is raging
on the thirsty ground,
soaking in and in
and in.
This night is wearing thin,
but my fingers fly like lightning,
coaxing color from
the black and white,
and I don't
want
to
stop.

I am made of two,
one old, one new,
one stone, one clay,
one walking with sure feet,
one running far away.

I am torn by two,
by what each wants to do:
they fight as if to own me.
They'll fight until one dies--
and though the elder frequently
controls my thoughts with fear,
the younger's battle cries
are clear.

Each struggle might go either way,
but since redeeming work is done,
my war's already won,

and I am longing for the day
when I am made of one.

My father owns the stars and sea
        and gathers children in his arms.
Because he told the earth to be,
my father owns the stars and sea
and holds the mountain's majesty,
        yet cares to shelter me from harm.
My father owns the stars and sea
        and gathers children in his arms.