THROUGH THE PANES DARKLY

THROUGH THE PANES DARKLY

Through the panes darkly,
I see remnants of a life,
My finger driven dusty
O'er the unkempt windowsill.

Through the panes darkly
Seeps a weak, withered light,
Greedy and bloated,
Having drunk all its fill.

And in the basement gloomy,
Where the ghosts still creep,
Your apparition comes and goes,
Wreaks havoc with my sleep.

Like a sharp wooden stake,
Run deep through the vampire's chest,
You suck the life from out the air
With your acrid winter breath,
Through the panes darkly,
I trace the subtle hand of Death. 

I pray for the days when my feet
Did not flail and falter,
And lay a futile sacrifice
On the steps of this sacred altar.

A prayer for relief, from the depths of belief.
Alive and well, rescued alas, from a renegade hell.
In the churchyard down the alleyway,
I hear the tolling bell.

Through the panes darkly,
Through the sand and the sod,
I hopelessly seek for the footprints of God.

But I find not an inkling, a clue or a trace,
Through the panes darkly,
In this perilous place.

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

GOD IN HEAVEN

GOD IN HEAVEN

God in heaven be with me,
When at last my time is come.
When the words no longer issue,
From this uncooperative tongue.
When I must rely on pen and clipboard
To make my wishes known.
When I'm at my cold wit's end,
Kneeling before your throne.

God in heaven be with me.
Before your followers have their way.
Hurling me to hell's dark door
For daring to be gay.
For daring to be different,
For daring to speak my mind.
God in heaven be with me,
Both in and out of time.

God be with me when these cheeks turn sallow,
When all my miracles are gone,
And all my fields lay fallow, 
In the cold light of the dawn.
When all that's left to toast,
Is an empty frame at most.
When I have no more vaunted will or energy to roam,
God in heaven be with me, when I am most alone.

Guide me to the glorious green fields of your grace,
The shining torchlight of your face,
The rare and wondrous glory
Of your grandest, greatest story.

Into the rainbow splendor of your land,
God in heaven take my hand.
And ease the trembling of my fears,
The guilts I carried through the years,
Be they my imagined sins or be they true and real.
Let your balm of Gilead come to me and heal.

God in heaven send to me forgiveness and a song,
A mantra for the journey to follow me along.
Some hint, some glimpse, some bargaining chip,
To buttress up this sinking ship,
God in heaven accompany me on this my final trip.
To a land of expectation and a house of many rooms,
Help me as I stumble, drawing nearer to the tomb.

God in heaven, look down upon me,
When at last my time has come,
When all that's left of human speech,
Deserts me and lies out of reach,
Dangling on the tongue's crude precipice,
And I am but a drooling fool in a run down earthly edifice.
When all that's left is detritus, when all that's left is rocks and stone,
When I rely on pen and clipboard to make my wishes known.
When I am at my cold wit's end, lead me kindly home.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2013
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED