on fate & PROVIDENCE

on fate & PROVIDENCE  

To what logician's ascribe and magician's contrive,
I bare no mark.

To the lofty heights, of metaphysician's geist,
I dare not embark. 

But in these two days, and in many ways,
I duly cannot expound.

A clear strange thing came to pass, though through dim lit glass,
a whisper of truth was found.

Now as to my humble estate, I am weary of this thing called (Fate),
of Witch' of Wyrd' and woven webs.

But as for me, and my destiny...
in foreknowing hands is lain.

At mercies' brink, in blood scrawled ink,
of the "Book of the Lamb that was Slain.

The hammer, wood and nail, should paint my fitting tale,
one of Justice in bitter fire.

Yet beyond where our minds can grasp, before time was cast,
in love God conspired. 

To whatever my end, be it betrayal by a friend,
or being cut down by the sword.

I pray one thing remain, the faith to proclaim,
that Jesus Christ is LORD. 

~Daniel

Foul Weather Feather

 {A Crow-mance}

Jet black and charcoal, rain drops and motor oil. 

Ash as the star starved night. 

Wind ruffled and pulled, snow covered and cold. 

Not a crumb to our name,

as poor as the nests from which we came. 

Yet even within ice, sleet and hail,

yours is a friendship that did not fail. 

From tip of your beak to the end of your tail,

my faithful friend.

I cannot add for tomorrow one more minute today,

but don't be anxious darling, the skies won't always be gray.

Remember last Autumn and the broken wing,

remember the miss-hatch, of that mournful Spring.

Heavier burdens have beset you and I,

even days too painful to fly.

But ours is a oath for better and worse,

perseverance perched abreast despite Adam's curse.

I will nest right by your side in joy and through strife,

the heart I give you, (my birdie bride), I give you for life.

~Daniel

Earl & Afternoon

Fragile hard, tensile thin,

from saucer base to fractured rim.

Yours, is porcelain bone white skin.

Mine, is fire pearled scar, and blackened char.

Steel, hammered-handle-hues.

You were made with tender care,

no glaze or turn was to spare.

I was cast from poured out flame.

But both you and I are quite the same.

Made diverse, in complement,

Spout of my spout, pantry sent. 

In this steam spun celestial cloud,

a serenade is sung aloud.

A railway stop metallic tone.

My whistle sounds for you alone.

Darling! won't you steep for me?

Oh Horror, that we may not meet,

if not for (High-Tea) and Company.

~Daniel

Deeper then Skin

Deeper then Skin

Mud, breath and rubbish, furrow, fold and pore.

Lines etch the corners, with wrinkles, and borders.

Each an echoed record of a still deeper tale.
Scar and freckle, laugh-line and vain,
paint this wounded canvas its rapture and shame.

Image of Woman, image of Man,
image in creature, of Creator's great plan.

Callus creased palm print, nurtured in toil.

Beauty bold labor, sculpted in soil.

Dirt made Image so grand,
poured out in age and interred back again.

This transient glory.
No gleaming facet or celestial fire,
can ever challenge or hope to aspire.

~Daniel

Turmult Orchestra No.1

Would, that the seas all sang,
& the winds of the range both bellowed and rang.
Oh that the rocks could cry aloud
& the trees in the wood could humble in bow.
There when the peeks all know their place,
& man has been rid of his (dis) by God's grace.
There when the skies split open wide,
& lies have no sanctum to hide.
When every last tear has been finally shed,
& every last soul sees the Lamb that was dead.
To a joy irresistible or unquenchable fear,
all of Creation will proclaim He is here!
~Daniel