Examen
O God, you are thrice holy as you dwell in endless light;
send down your flawless splendor to your children in the night,
for if you do not aid us, how empty is our song!
How clearly all our virtue but a mask to hide our wrong!
When I think upon my life, Lord, I should weep with tears of shame:
each moment hides a weakness in which I've failed your name:
when nations look upon me they should see Christ Crucified,
yet often how it seems that I am nothing but a lie!
Should I not become a sign of endless, holy grace?
My life is more a symbol of the failing of our race.
With your sanguine power flowing, Lord, cast out this sin in me
as the music of your Spirit moves in psalmic melody.
O God, you are most holy with your goodness ever-same,
and who would stand before you if you chose to render blame?
Not I, my King, most surely I would drown beneath the sea
of times when I have fallen short of where our hearts should be.
The love that I have given has not always come from you;
my hope is streaked with cowardice that runs it through and through;
in all my faith how truly rare are glory's little gleams;
and prudence in me shifts around like faces in a dream;
my courage, not a martyr's, is but mostly comfort tame;
and moderation flees away, and justice just the same.
With your sanguine power flowing, Lord, cast out this sin in me
as the music of your Spirit moves in psalmic melody.
One Moment in Time
I fell in love
with a girl sweet and shy,
bright as spring
when the birds sing,
with stars in her eye.
She looked at me
and my senses were caught,
with my breath
taken away
in entranced thought.
Someday, I know,
at the back of the night,
when all darknesses are gone,
there will be light.
Someday I dream
all the moments now past
will be found,
all safe and sound,
this time to last.
Never before my clear eye
for such a vision has tried;
never before has my soul
known such a promise to be whole.
I fell in love
with a girl sweet and shy,
filled with joy
enough for a boy
to taste till he dies.
She looked at me;
the sun broke the cloud
as dawn
takes a scissor
to night's shroud.
Never before has the light
poured from the sky to sight,
never again will the sky
look the same to the seeking eye.
Ever and again, I recall
the sun in its rise and fall;
Hear but the name,
the world is never the same.
I fell in love
with a girl sweet and shy,
bright as sun's ray
in blazing day
as it pours from the sky.
Someday, I know,
a future far and fair
this moment returns
from memory burned,
and erased
of all care.
Then it seems to me
that my soul rises free:
I fall in love
with a girl sweet and shy,
bright as spring
when the birds sing,
and starry of eye.
She looks at me
and my senses are caught,
with my breath
taken away,
in entranced thought.
So It Goes
There is love,
there are lies,
there is lying in love,
there is living a lie
(and loving it too),
there is love like to hate
and hate like to love,
there is lying in wait,
then surprise in their eyes
when shots ring out.
She hates and she loves,
he hates and he loves,
at times all the same in a jumbling game
where the prize is a heart,
or a life,
or a death,
and the sudden exhaling of everyone's breath
when shots ring out.
And so --
the gun's in her hand
and the shots ring out,
and how it ends who can tell?
I suppose no one knows
who has not been there,
feeling it happen.
So it goes.
And so --
the gun's in her hand
and the life-lines are tangled with lies
and soon somebody dies,
and death is an untensing of breath.
And so it goes.
The dark is a friend,
the dark is a foe,
the tears on her cheek cannot recall
even a memory tracing the path she has gone,
wandering in darkness
before hint of dawn;
just the sound stays
as shots ring out.
He is dead.
There -- it's said.
He lied;
let him lie.
It cannot be recalled.
So it goes.
And so --
the gun's in her hand;
who can tell
who it is
who suffers the more?
I guess to understand
we would need to be there,
feeling overcome.
So it goes.
And so --
the gun's in her hand,
and when love is a lie,
or a lie is a love,
there is lying in wait a doom and a fate
that cannot end well.
And so it goes.
We are fools for our loves,
we fall for their lies,
and so --
the gun's in her hand:
like spilled milk, spilled blood
now pointless to cry over;
the tears were already shed,
and she works out a fate
she chose long ago.
So it goes.
And so --
the gun's in her hand;
what's past has passed --
and yet we would love to recall
the lies of the past
and not let them lie.
It makes no sense;
it cannot be reasoned away.
And so it goes.
