A quartet: Deep calls unto deep

A quartet: Deep calls unto deep

Empty vessel 34567123 I want you more than I have you. I want poetry more than I am poetic. Where are you, muse? I want to speak, but I have nothing to say. A backwards handicap... a disease in reverse. Worse than the poet who says nothing, is the poet who has nothing to say. I want you, Beloved, but I am without inspiration to bring you forth. I am mundane. My devices lose their function... my reaching mind is but an appendix without function. I am the carcass without life. Breathe life into me, muse. Fill my cup that I may quench. Bring the Beloved unto me that I may send him forth. I turn the mirror to its function... alas, there is no light. I am a mirror in the dark. Give me light. There is no light. There is no reflection. I am a flower in a world that knows no color.

Longings too deep Father, I beg and beseech: let lips loosen lyric; let soul sing and speak. Your living breath groans— the groans now prolonging— lungs gripped by your longings, the longings you breathe. The words within reach won't relay or release what Pneuma pronounces, his voice far too deep. Your Son speaks your heart; his word will set free. His speech is pure speech. The Logos incarnate gives the mouth of the mute your name set apart.

Song of The Prevailing What then is a man,          that his name should inherit the tongues of the earth? What then is his pride,          that he should stand before God? What then is justice,          that it should be for nothing? Is there not truth,          is there not wisdom,          that they each should prevail? To abandon their song,          to cast aside their hope,          is to quench on their sword. What then is a creature,          a thing,          a fleeting dust,          that it should not perish? For to know and to dream,          to aspire and to look,          to perceive and to grasp,          are these not to fall before the distance? For what life is permitted to search,          permitted to knock at the gates? To listen to their song,          the ideals to which we lift up our hearts,          is it not to know the eternal before which one falls? For what glory is attained,          what authority is known in us? Do we not reach,          that we should fall short? Yet, to abandon their call—          for the arrogance of futility—          is it not to profane their light? Is not the beacon lit before us?          Is not the way calling? But to see is to know darkness,          to embark is to move nowhere. Yet, do we not search,          do we not move forward? Not as the master who attains,          but as the futile who is graced. For what, then,          should the fleeting cast aside the glory aspired? For, what authorship sustains us? What, then,          does the fleeting conquer? ... if only to listen,          that the fleeting should hear. To abandon their gifts,          the ideals to which we profane,          is it not to forsake their glory? Is the glory of the master          not greater than our emptiness? For what, then,          should the meek abandon their grace? Is insolence deserving?          Is pride worthy? ... only for death,          that light should prevail.   May God sing in us,          that life should know song.

Ineffable There is a space and time Without words. They cannot know, They cannot show. They do not reach. All mouths are stopped. "Worse than the poet who says nothing, Is the poet who has nothing to say." Out of nothing known, Out of nothing shown— Where and when, There and then— The Maker made all things, Before there was yet A maker to poet the likeness. The ineffable Word sang, That ineffable life might bear Children by Wisdom; That life might lie down In rest with first breath, Where and when Ineffable love never left. "May God sing in us, That life may know song." There is a space and time Without words. Though to know they search, Though to show they seek, They cannot reach. All mouths are stopped... But One breathing Ineffable song. Ineffable to thought's tongue, Announced in soul's sigh: Incarnate to know Incarnate to show The song found in blood, From deeper depths Than marrow in bone, Set apart to reach In the space at the time.