Heaven's Alchemy

When in my garden of Gethsemane

The sun was darkened and my song was stilled.

My heart was bleeding, for a part of me--

The boy I birthed and reared with love--was killed.

While spheres were clashing, Heaven's mighty power

Rebuilt my shattered kingdom when I said,

"Thy will be done." The moment--magic hour!

Restoring my torn soul. Upon my head

I felt a crown of peace I had not known.

The veil was thinned ... The Master at the helm

Let me behold my living son, His Own,

And see the beauty of His glorious realm,

Its kingdoms reaching far as thought can look--

Mortality but prefaces God's book.

Singing Pens

From a Brimming Heart

The lark pours forth his song upon the air,
Flute-clear and cool in rippling rhapsody,
Surpassing not the robin's symphony,
Nor drowning out the phoebe's gentle flare.
His notes come not at duty's urge or praise,
But to express the lilting ecstasy
Not to be stilled within his breast, does he
Release a splashing fount of jeweled blaze.

So there are souls who feel the touch of wings
And hear the silent singing of the stars,
The music of the Master Poet's art;
Who see the glory in all living things,
And often walk the realm of avatars
Who sing their lyrics from a brimming heart.