Song link -- It all comes back to You

It all comes back to You

It All Comes Back to You                                                            

G                           D                           C                                G

when the dust has stilled my tongue   no more songs to be sung

G                           D                           C                                G                       

I’ll serenade the Timeless One             it all comes back to You

G                              D                           C                                G              

when my eyes have closed for good     I’ll look to You like I always could

G                           D                     C                              G

everything will be as it should     it all comes back to You

C                             G                D                     Em

Sometimes this ol’ life is hard, seldom letting down my guard,

C                             G                      Em           C#m7     D

let Your love be my sole reward, it all comes back to You.

Chorus:

C                      G                     C                                          G         

every fear and desire               in this dream I thought was true

C                             G                   Dm           C          G

burned away in the fire             it all comes back to You       

G                           D                           C                                G 

in this journey I’ve been on          I’ve been weak and I’ve been strong

G                           D                           C                                G  

good or bad, right or wrong          it all comes back to You

G                           D                           C                                G

life with You has been richer than    anything I could’ve ever planned

G                           D                           C                                G 

still it’s slipping right through my hands     it all comes back to You

C                             G                D                     Em

when this old life gets hard,      I hold to You and I play my part,

C                             G                      Em           C#m7     D

let Your love be my sole reward         it all comes back to You.

(Chorus)

G                           D                           C                                G 

when they lay me down to rest       I will leave without request

G                           D                           C                                G 

I loved You, Lord and I did my best    it all comes back to You        (Chorus)

The joy of breath

The joy of breath                                                                                     

It’s like sewing the torn seam of a treasured jacket –

needle pushed in, pulled out to patch the rend

that lets the chill in and the warmth escape. 

You might say His name with each stroke if you’ve a mind to

and go through the day with mercy in your throat;

like a swinging gate awhisper on well-oiled hinges –

you keeping a nearby watch to chronicle the traffic,

follow your thoughts where you will and leave off

where you must -- stand and observe

the lone traveler disappearing against the sky.

Wherever you end up, the gate will follow,

ready for you to take up your post again.

 

You won’t change much (coming in/going out) –

your deportment, perhaps, discernment,

your rash decisions, easy attachments.

O seamster, name-dropper, sentinel, spy!

holy, holy witness, knowing only the moment,

inside and out, and the primal joy of breath!

O child of God, will you ride the ox or 

chase forever behind its random wanderings?

My only treasure

My only treasure

I have no merit of any measure
to offer You, my Lord, in trade --
Your compassion is my only treasure.

Empty handed, half-hearted gestures
to fend off Your righteous blade.
I have no merit of any measure.

At Your mercy, at Your leisure; 
salvation undeserved, I'm afraid.
Your compassion is my only treasure.

Purity surely the Beloved's pleasure --
Your life a chaste and silent upbraid --
I have no merit of any measure.

My wayward heart, shaped to pressure,
ventured where its willfulness bade.
Your compassion is my only treasure.

Before You, bereft of holy vesture,
in my nakedness sorely displayed,
I have no merit of any measure --
Your compassion is my only treasure.

                      (Unpublished)

The blade of remembrance

The blade of remembrance                                                           

First, it merely pares away

the unwanted debris,

holding your heart hostage –

until it tosses you into the street –

down which you wander

out into the wilderness

where it becomes an implement

to scale and explore

the vaulting edifice,

to gain a hand or foothold

in the scattered veins and crevices,

scrambling along the daunting face. 

But, it’s employed

more opportunely later –

sunk deeply into the chest

to strike a vein, to plunder the treasure

deeper than the heart,

whittling one’s self to a straw,

for the narrow, twisted passageways

within a vast, interior territory.

O child of God, let His name remind you of the nature

of the dream appearing continuously before your eyes.

                              

The atelier door

The atelier door                                                                              

The canvas is bare and the base coat is pain,

as we begin our self-portrait, muting

even the sharpest delineations, the staunchest hues. 

We dream of truer colors until some cry of pain,

returns us abruptly to the task at hand. 

But, soon we shall drift away once more,

to conjure up another masterpiece of illusion,

hovering abstractly over palette, canvas and easel.

The base coat is pain and the atelier door  

is locked from the outside.  The portrait paints itself –

beyond our judgment, control or critical flair

and we are, alas, try as we might,

bound inextricably to our labor,

yet, unable to add or subtract a single stroke.

O child of God, the origin of ego is attachment

made manifest through ceaseless imaginings.

                                                  Drawing by Rich Panico

The business of love

The business of love                                                                    

I love you more, said Meher Baba,

than you could ever love yourself,

My self not in the business of love –

neither payments nor debts; 

my self – the absence of love

and love – the absence of self.

Looking for love in the assorted galleries
of fantasy and flight.  Finding none

in ourselves, we look to other selves –

who look to us across the great divide.

The love of which my Lord speaks

offers no barter nor bargain –

love not because of what we might give

(or receive) but, what might empty us,

what might make room, make room -

make room for Love; make room for God.

O child of God, what is this business of love?

Meher says it’s the essence of your being.

The bars of this poetry

The bars of this poetry     

I talk about Your silence.

(The irony does not escape me) --

knowing nothing, chattering along

while You hold Your tongue,

mouth containing universes,

and motion with Your eyes

toward the path

You wish me to follow.

When will I get the hint?

When will the world get the hint? –

this snickering, shouting,

riotous and blasphemous world?

I quote Your words.

Lord, let me quote Your silence

and leave behind forever

the tongue of my conceit,

the lips of my folly, the hollow,

brittle bars of this poetry.

O child of God, honor your poems.

They are addressed from Him to you.