Poetry

By Bruce W. Young


Sunday Afternoon

A light whose gentle glow outshines the lamps
Now fills the room with a golden shimmering
And mends the tattered edges of our gathering—
The squealing bundles and the whispering camps.
Voices stumble into harmony
And clear the past week’s dusty accumulation
From my inner chambers, in preparation
For the waking of my memory.
A silent conversation fills the room,
A glow of reverence for an unseen friend,
As young men kneel and struggle with the sounds
Whose sense reminds me to remember Him.
I strain in silence to clean out my heart.
I bow my head, rubbing at the lingering stains,
Knowing that another heart sustains
The blows that purge and make my heart unbend.
I receive the bread of life that makes me whole,
The morsel that fills, warms, and soothes the aches,
And the living water that washes and wakes
The drowsy fibers of my center soul.
As I offer all I have and am to Him,
A clear and silvery stream of light flows in
And waves of healing fire flood my being,
With promise that I might no longer be alone,
With whispers drawing me to distant friends,
Reminding me of things that I have always known.

The Great Commandment

The lawyer stood before the Christ,
His mission born of guile:
“Which is the greatest of our laws?”
He asked with haughty smile.
The Master’s face was calm but grave,
His features chiseled stone:
“To love the Lord with all thine heart,”
Said he in gentle tone.
The man, less sure, was silent now,
But Jesus still serene:
“And love thy neighbor as thyself,”
Replied the Nazarene.
The lawyer, taken by surprise,
Slipped silently away.
But yet remains the eternal truth
Down to the present day.

Star Mist

Sometimes the starlight mist
of tapestry interlaced with
silver glow is nothing more
than tinsel hung upon the arms
of passing stars that glimmer
as they go.
Sometimes the wind-blown bands
of emerald light that grace
the northern sky are nothing more
than sun-filled clouds left to linger
in the night.
But on occasion when I see
the diamonds of the arctic night,
I like to think God granted me
a peek through heaven’s parted veil
to a glimpse of worlds to be.