Forgiving

Give me an unloved heart.
An unheld hand,
A friendless part
in life's great play.

Send me forgotten books.
Works out of print
That no one looks
at anymore.

Make me the starving child.
Neglected soul
left to the wild
earth writhing.

But let me love. Don't take
from me my needing
wanting, pining
heart--
the pilot flame
that lets me start
my life again.
If I can feel
my fire of living;
If my heart loves,
I am forgiving.

tiny hands

Do it for tiny hands.
Those fingers grip mine
when swinging the little person attached.
Those fingers hold mine
when pleading for the smile I have.
Those fingers stroke mine
when nothing's left to do but stand.
They're always in my hands.

Because my hands are strength.
Because my hands are love.
Because my hands can heal
the wanting from your little frame.
Because you trust your world through mine,
And see the start and end of time
in every moment just as kind
and full of hope as ones behind
the ones you're in.

You are the reasons I still am,
reminding me no reason can
give justice for my lingering soul,
so bent on hell from lost control;
But you--the reason part and whole
That I'm allowed new youth at all.

Then look at you and feel you mend
my damaging, weakening, reckless trend
of growing old.
Who could have told
me standing there, I'd be so bold
to live again?
--rebuilding soul with tiny hands
And making heart feel young again.

Don't Worry

Don't worry the man so distant.
He's only real that way.
Don't give of yourself unassisted.
Your guide, he's not, nor stay.
You'll only fall when resisted,
And feel your world something twisted.
He's worried sick that you've missed it--
his need to go away.

You can't think
But you want to.
You can't feel
But you need to.
You can't wish
But you seem to.
Not knowing anything,
remembering,
experiencing,
foreseeing,
anything.

She believes in fate,
He believes in will,
You believe in both,
Not making sense of it.

It's supposed to make sense--
You should feel reason.
Of course it doesn't make sense--
That's life.

Life is up to you.
No one will do it for you.
You aren't yours.
You didn't do it--He did.

Work like it's all up to you.
Pray like it's all up to Him.
Be glad to be totally confused your whole life,
Split between a straight and bent neck.

You shouldn't be confused.
Don't you read the Good Book?
Good people aren't confused.
Pretend for now,
I'm sure you'll be good someday,

When you don't think so much.

I want to be good,
but I want to think.
Why is good so unreasonable?