In Motion

Yesterday,

Was it only yesterday?

This flower was a bud

In a small translucent glass vase

That once belonged to my grandmother,

A passionate gardener whose flowers were her children.

Yesterday,

Was it only yesterday?

This flower was a bud.

Today,

This flower is a bloom.

It opened quickly yet I did not see it move,

Even though I must have passed by

A dozen times or more.

Seen or unseen,

All is in motion in this inconstant world,

All the little children,

In the blink of an eye,

Gone.

~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

At Any Moment

If I told you I’d found paradise

And knew the way there

It would be partly true.

Yes, I’ve been there,

On occasion.

I get back there,

Once in a while.

But if I spent my days

Lecturing about paradise

As if it were the house in which I lived,

Then, that would be a lie.

I live in the real world

Which contains all possible sorrows

And joys,

At any moment,

In no particular order.

~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

An Angel's Plight

I cannot tell you the nature of my birth.
My countenance is but a mirror,
Reflecting your imagination,
Without human substance.

To say I am born of God
Is less than Adam’s rib,
Without lineage.

In my mind there is only being.

There was no infancy,
No cradling,
No mother’s soft cooing.

I am filled with envy
And my desire is insatiable,
The desire for love,
Love that must be earned by good works,
By intercession.

So I listen and I am called
And I answer as best I can,
Only able to influence,
Not change,
The course of any human event.

I hunger for that connection,
That bond with a grieving heart,
A heart so wounded that at last I am called,
Yet so often abandoned after healing has begun,
After joy has returned,
After the Earthly distractions come flooding back,
Severing the connection,
Casting me out once again,
Lonely winged messenger that I am.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Ark

I hear faint whispers,

Far from this devouring sea.

I am lost,

Waiting for pestilence to pass.

That all things must pass,

Small comfort to the despair of this place.

I press my hands together in supplication,

Not knowing what to ask,

Knowing only that some things must stop

Before other things begin.

I hear faint whispers.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved