More Random Poetry

Here's a few other poems I have lying around (I can't sleep tonight, so I might as well blog, right?).

Love

Love is the food of melancholy music

The fuel of midnight fires stoked by lost lovers

Smoking their last cigarette to keep from crying.

Love grows like a weed in the cracks in human hearts

Holding them together with ineffable force

Then turns and cracks its hosts in two.

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So many people we will never meet

So many faces we will never turn to greet

So many souls, each one like us.

Clinging to a precarious existence

Dreaming of founding the resistance

So many hearts possessed by fears

So many faces which when hidden flow with tears

So many souls, each one like us.

Holy Ground

The other day, one of my friends told me she read my blog, and then I remembered "I have a blog!" (I'm a forgetful person.) Anyways, here's a post, just to say I posted.

This is a poem I jotted down after touring the Buchenwald Concentration Camp Memorial near Weimar, Germany. (On the gates to the prisoners' section of the camp was a Nazi motto: "Jenem das Seine" or "To each his own".)

Holy Ground

What is holy ground?

It is something found?

Or made -- a dream of our collective mind,

Visible to the blind,

Jenem das Seine

They say the deaf can hear one thing:

When funeral bells toll and ring

This ground cries out inaudibly, undeniably:

"You are your brother's keeper."

Jenem das Seine

Each heavy step you take

Bloodies your shoe. Take it off

And put on love

Hope died here. Let not love follow

Jenem das Seine

What is holy ground?

When God is Father

Church, Mother

Man, Brother

Holy ground emerges, an emission of the collision

Jenem das Seine