How I Got This Ache

Late in the night I wanted to see this moon
but a wall got in the way; so, lying down
on the floor sideways, I gazed up through
iron bars and wire-mesh covered window,
to behold a full moon uncut by
impediments and impositions of the state.
There I lay until sleep came, enjoying
the unrestricted view... and at dawn I awoke
with this sore neck, that unforgiving agony
the moon's revenge for my spying.

Stephen Wayne Anderson
October 1, 2000
(Ex. 66.)

Resurrected

There were many years spent alone
walking this path of solitude;
years when no one knew my heart
nor understood what made me brood.
Then came a shining light
piercing this land called Nod,
driving away this solid dark
and revealing the face of God.

All those years of darkness fled
like birds startled into sudden flight;
my senses were opened to other places
beyond a common sinner's sight.
Lifted up to glorious new heights
I was cleansed of all things crude;
this wayward spirit was baptized
and reborn to wondrous gratitude.

Raised again from desperate depths
this soul sang a magnificent song;
music made my spirit flow,
once more I seemed to belong.
I forgot all the old, evil ways
and left these mortal bonds unshod;
with resurrected name I soared strong
amongst the splendors of God.

Stephen Anderson
(Ex. 67.)

I Miss Them All

I miss leaves whispering
softly through the evening haze;
little conversations upon the breeze,
rustling giggles and hush, child, hush.

I miss fresh cut summer grass,
turned wet and vibrant green; ah, yes,
I miss those bugs annoying my nose, my eyes,
my ears: I miss cursing at their taunts.

I miss catching scent of honeysuckle,
lifted warm on gentlest breeze; and the sound
of distant children playing at dusk,
called for supper but reluctant to go.

I miss the harsh bite of wood smoke
drifting through the heavy autumn air; and the scent
of dead things burned against obscure horizons,
rising upwards into a thousand sunset colors.

I miss listening to the sounds of night,
crickets chirping and birds calling each other;
I miss watching life unfold and hearing echoes
continuing through winter's cold.

I miss so much living behind these walls,
cloistered away from the world beyond: but sometimes
I hear the rain across the roof, and
smell it upon the sidewalks cleaned.

I miss the sensation of all things purified,
of life freed of all of its burdens; and I miss
just living for sunsets and the moon,
and those things lost, hush... child, hush

Stephen Wayne Anderson
September 25, 2000
(Ex. 68.)

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