I Am Consoled

That which consoles me

Exerts an equal but opposite

Force of that which

Breaks my heart


What I Want

What I want is eternal
It is clean and good
It does not separate
Those familiar with
One another
If I get what I want
There will be no
Everyone will have
One another
What belongs to one
Will remain
What I want lasts
Forever and ever
There is  no  hurry
It is something not
Defined as it defines
Itself in it’s fruition
And as it does everyone
Will say that it is
A wonderful thing
For you and for me
And everyone
And should you not
Be able to have what
I want then I would
Forfeit my portion
To you
What I want is not willed
By me
It is not
Invented by me
It is not mine
To forfeit
But it is what I tasted
One day
You happened
To be there
It is something that
Cannot be withheld
It is sweet and tender
It is pure and good
unprofaned and everlasting
It will come to pass
And last forever and ever
Shared with everyone you
Love and everyone you have
Ever loved and everyone that
You will love tomorrow
The greatest gift you could
Give but not greater than the
One we all received
And I want to be there

Is it by chance that it will
Arrive?  It was invented by
One competent in the
Ways of time and light and
We are in awe because we know
It will happen and when and how it does
It will be too wonderful to describe
With our shackled language
But we will try our best by word
And pen and deed
We will shout with joyful tears
And laughter
And I want to be there
It’s what I want


A Pauper’s Petition


Perhaps a close friend
Has given way to tears
Maybe suffering the same
Pain as the widow of
I am inside out, upside-down,
And in the weeds
Please give my friend
Exactly what they need
Give the thing furtherest
Beyond their wildest
Listen, please listen
Do not turn your ears
You always consider what
I have to say
Never reproaching due
To my sins from yesterday
Or the ones currently committed
Give them what they need
Quickly that they be happy
And continue giving glory
To you like the leper who
Pleaded with your son,
“If you want to you can make me clean”
And he was made clean
If you want to you can make
My friend happy today
Completely, wholly
Please I plead
Please I plead
You always listen
To what I say

To Know Love

Do you know love sufficiently?

I laid claim to it

The inspired text states:

He has made everything fine at its time, he has even put eternity into their minds except that man does not find out the work God had done from beginning to end.-Ecclesiastes 3:11 Byington

If so of his work, what of God himself? The same text says:

He who does not love never got to know God, because God is love.-1 John 4:8 Byington

Do you know God sufficiently? Do not be offending holy angels by laying claim to it

Neither do you know love sufficiently

Neither you

Nor I

We must try

To approximate it

This is the task

That will last

An eternity

An Imperfect Wage

I’m sorry for bleeding out onto the floor

The ooze might lead you to conclude

The blow was more serious than the first glance did afford

I am coming in from war

Those in my wake are unable to relate of their campaigns waged

Having a mouth but unable to speak

Thusly, I have been recused, precluded from building up

I dare not compare this wretch to The Psalmist

Who was given a promise

A righteous heart owner

But who was not given the desire

Of said member to be the temple builder

Being the King, though, did allow him

To source from reserve limitless

He was privileged to supply and advise

Concerning the spiritual fortress

But it did not belong to him to build it

I am but a pauper, skilled at tripping in the field

Unable to provide a single speck of dust to noble effort

To restore those torn down and scattered

How could love accomplish so neatly, so completely

That which is the work of hate?

Separating, isolating, silencing?

The pain in the last few days equates

A smile on my heart, kidneys and face

Knowing that my absence will loosen the lips of the mute

No longer being accused by self or others

No longer being made subject for execution

Free to be free among sisters and brothers

It is a shame that though the prefect price was paid

That allows all to have freedom

It seems that there are those that necessitate an additional wage

The dark red which stains the wood grain while outside it rains

An imperfect wage born of negligence

I was running to tell of good news, of hope

On the moistened mossy stones which skirt the forest

The stitch of the sheath which I was fixing to fix

Had seemingly come completely unraveled

I slipped and tripped and fell on misplaced blade

And filled my knees full of gravel

It was unintentional

So unintentional


Perfect Dagger

An ivory handle bulging like a wine cask. Tapered down at both ends, to the crossguard and to the nut, where a precious triad of ruby, emerald and turquoise encircle, inlaid and bordered with wire of yellow bullion. The mirror smooth surface of off white, with a patina of persimmon.

Beyond the crossguard, where commerce is done, lies a blade of origin somewhere in Damascus, where infamous swords were forged. The length, a hand span of black steel, decorated with her innate in-concentric lines like the contours of a topographic map. Painstaking forging of the tang perfectly press-fitted; married to the handle that it may be one, wearing an etching in Arabic, which when translated reads, “1 of 1”.

Fashioned for a single task centuries before she would be called to duty, but when summoned she did prove to be ready. No tool before or since filled so perfectly its assigned role. Not a spoon that feeds you stew. Not a goblet for the wine bouquet. These are desperately deficient.

She was an idea that in these days will realize its fruition. An irresistible force so intense that the humble target, who has all his life heard of her in whispers, blissfully surrenders instead of resisting. He knows that her work is perfect. She will not fail. He will have a glance of his own beating heart, before closing his eyes for the long slumber, without feeling a bit of pain, without a shudder.

It’s all he could think of every moment of every day, since he was aware that on his chest lie her crosshairs. He died well, without fear, and without a sound. He was not afraid. He honored his own by being silent. He honored his God, and he honored the Perfect Dagger. And now that she has accomplished her purpose, she lies with him clasped within his hands forever.

The story does not ring true, however. He died, yes. He was silent, yes. He was unafraid, yes. But there was no honor in it whatsoever. He was silent only because he grew weary of calling out, and not receiving an answer. Loosing his faith in the idea that a man is free to feel, and do as he pleases. He was unafraid because it was what he begged for; long slumber. He gathered that it was the only way to quiet his desire.

That was her name

He only honored Desire The Perfect Dagger

And for this all else was dishonored


Damascus Steel

Tales From the Forest

He was both a king

And a monster

To his chagrin

And his honor

She never knew that

As he approached

He saw her


Upon seeing him

She teleported finding

Children’s songs

And laughter

The smile worn

By the monster-king

Turned to vapor


The  insult did sting

As it pierced his armor

To his knees, he it did bring

To bleed out

On to the floor

Of the travel section

Of the book store



Power Wash

An engine

That makes

You go

That gives you


Concealed caked and crusted

With dust and grime

Aggressive solvent solution

Is applied

And power washed

Back to prime

Nothing concealed

Any longer

But it’s imperfection


When shopping

A car with a pristine


Be careful

Not to buy