Saturday, February 4, 2012

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 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.

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