THE SUNDAY BELL

Insistent,
Measured,
Calling coherently,
Amidst the clamour,
The traffic,
Scavenging gulls,
The helterskelter scattering,
Of minds,
Intent on tomorrow,
In beats of silence,
Little corridors of calm,
The Sunday bell,
Lone, yet firm,
Points to aspiration,
Heeded by few.

TEARS

Heaven shed those silvered tears,
Slow, silent beads of daylight,
Slipping sadly out of frame.
The world appears
A smear of grey light
Straining through the window's pain.

Oh, how much does our Father weep
To find his sons and daughters slain,
Then hide behind such deep deceit
And call His crying
Falls of rain?

Let the blood wash from the streets,
Clear each heart from foolish stain,
And hear the splash of dancing feet
In pools, that tears of joy retain.

CHURCH

Like a church, a quiet place,
To you, my heart fondly returns,
To where I feel that flow of Grace,
The peace my soul so dearly yearns,
A comfort, an oasis found
Upon life's choking, dusty road,
Where waters cool and clear abound,
And disappears my heavy load.