Thank you for this beautiful dream, oh GOD The morning birds Singing, they greet me The life of flower, fruit, mountain and bee Leaves of purple, gold or pine And with artist’s brush Some powdered white In confectioners sugared branches
The rivers that run wild Their torrents of grace Laugh like following, canine companions And in a niche
There’s an entire grove Filled with sweet oranges We can eat all we want Know the divine That draws not a dragon’s breath
The spotless lady knows the way But there for those that fear her With angry thoughts They do not want to know The Father’s plan Which is something good To teach small children When they startle awake Arising from where they fell
On bruised and bent knees
Oh world meant to serve To remind us of Eden And remember life’s Maker Until then our marvelous mystery The day we return to You Finally opening our eyes We will also remember All suffering and sadness Undone The day we return to Eden
“Those of us who remain hidden from everyone else, however, know that this world is wondrous and filled with mysteries. We possess no magical perception, no psychic insight. I believe our recognition of reality’s complex dimensions is a consequence of our solitude…
– Dean Koontz
To live in the city of crowds and traffic and constant noise, to be always striving, to be in a ceaseless competition for money and status and power, perhaps distracted the mind until it could no longer see – and forgot – the all that is. Or maybe, because of the pace and pressure of that life, sanity depended on binding oneself to the manifold miracles, astonishments, wonders, and enigmas that comprised the true world.”
I write this poem in honor of my dearly departed cousin Raymond, who entrusted with me the carrying out of his deathbed decree.
For false relatives continue to flock like vultures over their would be victim’s heads, and some continue to treat me and their dying son and brother’s last words with as much ignorance as they would wish upon their victims. They have replaced their false sympathy for those who suffer with empty threats and promises, for now no one will pay them a false allegiance.
Yet they act as if dark deeds have never before been challenged.
They are all becoming like one troubled soul I know, who thinks the state can take away his earthly mansion, for not doing the bidding of an evil man.
As for me, as long as I have a voice and live on this earth, I will continue to rejoice and sing Heaven’s Song.
For as Raymond said it, they don’t get it.
They just don’t get it anymore.
It is not us who are suffering.
Never was.
Never will be.
And never will be ever after.
Help of the helpless
My dear family
This is my deathbed
Fear not, abide with me
