Doppelganger

It is a strange equilibrium
and universal continuum
that you and I
are each unique.

It would be a curious improbability
if a doppelganger existed,
a double walker,
a living counterpart of ourselves.

Someone with whom you could trade places
without anyone else being aware.

What if you could leave your life
in the hands of another,
depart your present space
with no one missing you?

A curiosity indeed,
but fraught with the difficulty
that is humanity.
What if my double
pretending to be me,
were not willing
to hand back the reins
at the appointed time?

What if they thought they were
doing a better job at being me,
and were not content to walk away from my life?

It is foolishness to wish away our life to someone else,
for no other can fully master the quintessence that is you.

We should not abdicate
but embrace our own life,
be faithful to the calling
that is ours alone.

We are unique in this universe.
There is no one like us.
Rejoice in it,
for God has made it so.

Dreams of Phoenix

Twelve weeks old
I hold you in my arms
and wonder on your dreams,
almost everything as yet undone,
the very early moments of your life.

What do you dream about little man
that causes your face to look so,
your arms to fling out
your body to stretch
as if preparing for a race?

Do you run over sand
or over meadows?
Does the moon or sunlight guide your way?
Do extraordinary animals or winged creatures
inhabit your dreamscape,
inhabitants of this world or the next?

Do you talk in your dreams
when your perfect forehead furrows,
and your mouth moves in whispered thoughts?

Are your dreams full of others,
or do you explore your wondrous world alone?

I can only imagine
the answers,
for when you are old enough
to tell me in words I comprehend,
the dreams of your first beginning days
will be forever lost to mystery and wonder
for those who hold you
with safe and cradled arms
while you sleep.

Choral Masterpieces

Burnished wood of violin,
cello and paler double bass,
reflect the spot light beams.
Gentleman and ladies stand
dressed in black and white,
with crisp pressed shirts,
and polished shoes.

We spend the evening
with five fine men,
long gone but not forgotten.
Handel, Mozart, Dubois,
Faure and Puccini.
Their gifted legacies
of deep talent and harder work.

One piece by Mozart at thirteen
spilling forth complex symphony
as if singing childhood rhymes.

The singers fix in concentration,
flick pages and form perfect oval
mouths as joyous words
flow out in strength.

Praise of God goes forth
joining with seraphim and cherubim
and those whose sang
these same words of truth
throughout the ages.

Violin bows dance and swing
across the strings,
fingers flying over frets,
forming perfect sounds by gifting honed.

The skilful rise and fall
of the Conductor's hands,
full of intricate command
to those who understand.

I close my eyes,
and memories flood
of places I have heard these sounds before.
Hot scented French summer days,
and cool aired towering cathedrals
where organ music flies.

Applause brings me back
to where I am;
seat I14 mid row
among these choral masterpieces.

Word Received 10.5.2016

Look and see My salvation
that is coming across the earth.
Do not be unbelieving
but believe all things are possible
in and through Me.
Lift up your eyes and do not
be burdened by your own issues
but look to Me for the answer to them.
There is not time to be tangled
up with things that do not matter in eternity.
Look to Me and see My salvation
come to those who are around you.
I am able and I am willing
to save all in these days.

Who looks after Mothers?

Who looks after Mothers
when they fall and scrape their knee,
when life is hard,
and friends unkind.
When the project they
are working on
doesn't go well,
and the jigsaw pieces
refuse to behave.

Who looks after Mothers
when they need a warm hug
and a friendly kiss.
A blessing softly spoken,
and today's troubles
eased by listening ears.

Who looks after Mothers
when all the world is against them,
and they need a faithful ally
who will listen
to their version of events,
and choose to believe
it wasn't all their fault.
Who wraps protective arms,
and calls forth encouragement
and purposed destiny
in the quivering heart.

Who looks after Mothers
when they just need to be held,
and told as many times as it takes
that all will be well.
Until the heaving sobs
settle with the peace of reassurance,
and a new stride
can be measured forth.

Who looks after Mothers
when all is lost,
and grief is too much to bear.
When a beloved is laid to rest
under stones and fading flowers.
When no words should be spoken,
but only hands held,
and eyes locked with understanding
that this terrible pain too will pass.

Who looks after Mothers?
They are all around you
needing to be loved,
cherished, understood,
and comforted.

So
please
look
after
Mothers.