If naked eye could split the light

into prismatic rays,

or filter out pollution’s glare

and see through living’s haze,

mind could tally up the ifs,

the wherefores and the whys –

and not need a prescription drawn

to make sense of good-byes.

Soul Runs Empty

empty bird feeder

Soul runs empty,

pants for bread,

craves attachment,

must be fed;

convention’s trough

won’t satisfy –

O Christmas Son,

will you supply?

Born and laid

in manger hay,

feed our souls

this Christmas Day.


For more on this topic, visit  Growing With God in my Garden