Poetry

MERELY LIFE

by Walter Boswell
03/06/19
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Merely Life                    

Grossly came I into this world,

                cruelly shall I go out;

in between all the necessary lies

                                and randomized lying

                ushered in by arresting survival.

                Fuller the grasp and           bemoaning:

the despair of any conscious rise.

So it is a factory of contradictions,

                centered and drilled with holes,

                                imposed with automatic conflict

                                                …             hand-made.

Heeding No One

Matching the frustration of unrequited love,

the straight-jacket of summer’s liquidless labor

embraced by the restraints of hot summer wool –

                                until the mind itself is burnt,

                                spirit-deprived of mental oxidation.

Little caring, secondarily,             anymore

than He who should, but does                not

keep Passover vigil for the return of Himself

 throughout His regenerations.

Last sinus of hope clogged with ever-crying bitterness,

exuding only aging finish by welfare

over once-fresh youthful start and cut.

In a Desert

                                To become like God

                is to defy all contradiction.

A Father who claims to love us,

                                                and showers blessings –

                posing within oasis, near vacations or holidays,

                                among illusory disciples of palm;

                                whilst pent-up faith and hope

                waste rock-hard and beyond freeing

                                                in the forgotten dry wash.

His demanding so much,

                so much of a Christ similar

with an inward strength to somehow fashion

special self-made gifts of warmth

from unsheared fiber and unspun spools of light.

                                                                Remanding thus,

give back in angular reflection what was never emanated,

                repay what was never source-funded –

when nothing is ever given freely from heaven

but doubts of rain and heartbreaks of frozen snow.

Dr. Walter Boswell

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