Wednesday, July 9, 2008


When the old blind man comes
knocking on your spiked gate,
do you merely loosen the lock
for him?

Or do you, like a mother
having disciplined her child
clean his hands with stinging medicines
and bandadge them in
your own former nightgown?

Then, when he comes again
Ready to die
He need only cry out
and the gate will fall down before him.

[Who chose you]

Who chose you
O Dweller-in-hell,
Who chose you
as eternal symbol
of Face-turned-from-God?

Who chose you,
and if heaven began again
would you choose again the same?

How might heaven
Live eternally altered
In the light of your eyes

How might hell
Burn with different cruelty
under the will of another

Could mercy be gentler
or deceit more acidic
Love a greater burden
and lust like flaming oil

Or is the quality of human frailty,
the Echo-in-us-all,
Vastly the misunderstanding
of the immensity of our own choosing?