Poetry

A TIME FORTHCOMING

by Walter Boswell
03/28/19
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A Time Forthcoming

Come new sorrow to your beauteous eyes,

when all the blessings shall fade from your heart,

                who will love you            in the Lord’s name?

It is with misshapen hand that I reach out to you;

                it is on broken, not bended, knee I bow.

                                It is,        as though,        I am felt.

The friend that was …

                am          but a circumcised shell –

                made loving only by my loneliness –

                                free only within pen enclosure.

You will see me someday,

                when I am no longer old, but young;

                                and you will escape with me

                                the aging of your endless fear.

Lost and Found (Prophecy Return)

A hard search indeed … only to find it isn’t what anybody wants:

                taken in, settled deep, and vaporized like poisoned air.

A hard mix of camouflage to blend oneself as one.

A hard secret to keep openly flaunted.

                Why must I scour the heavens

                                just to find faith undiscovered –

                a slurry suspension some two thousand years along?

Still as though there were no God - - -

for however many times it must be repeated

                and then repaired of its same sad breaking.

                How many times must I feed the famine in children’s hearts

                                and drain the coarsening from their lungs?

They were your fortune-makers,

                                your top bids in a derby lost –

                like lone spires on a soggy mound

                                waiting for the Earth to be founded.

I find myself afraid                   alone at your altar.

                Wherefore shall the Levites come to undress me

                                and Aaron take my sacredness away?

Wait … these be thy people … still,

                who are called by your Son’s name;

                let not his generations fail him

                and your inheritance be slashed again

                                by moles              without Spirit

                burrowing through a hidden Promised Land.

Dr. Walter Boswell

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