One

How, from great difference, can one be meld.
If our ways, our thoughts, our patterns be telled,

Continents merge and mountains collide,
With greater calm and soothing provide;

Treaties are formed and nations unite,
By stoke of pen, more certain be right.

But artists know of contrast's fair due,
From red and white to shade and hue.

Colors stark and strong and proud,
By brush unto submission bowed.

What, of masters' works displayed,
Were colors only grey and gray?

But we of disparate pigments made,
By master's stroke, a concerted shade.

Upon the master's canvas lays
The glint of an eye, our stroke portrays.

The Wife of My Youth

May your fountain be blessed,
    and may you rejoice in the wife of your youth.
A loving doe, a graceful deer—
    may her breasts satisfy you always,
    may you ever be intoxicated with her love.

Come with me from Lebanon, my bride,
    come with me from Lebanon.
Descend from the crest of Amana,
    from the top of Senir, the summit of Hermon,
from the lions’ dens
    and the mountain haunts of leopards.
You have stolen my heart, my sister, my bride;
    you have stolen my heart
with one glance of your eyes,
    with one jewel of your necklace.
How delightful is your love, my sister, my bride!
    How much more pleasing is your love than wine,
and the fragrance of your perfume
    more than any spice!
Your lips drop sweetness as the honeycomb, my bride;
    milk and honey are under your tongue.
The fragrance of your garments
    is like the fragrance of Lebanon.
You are a garden locked up, my sister, my bride;
    you are a spring enclosed, a sealed fountain.
Your plants are an orchard of pomegranates
    with choice fruits,
    with henna and nard,
      nard and saffron,
    calamus and cinnamon,
    with every kind of incense tree,
    with myrrh and aloes
    and all the finest spices.
You are a garden fountain,
    a well of flowing water
    streaming down from Lebanon
I have come into my garden, my sister, my bride;
    I have gathered my myrrh with my spice.
I have eaten my honeycomb and my honey;
    I have drunk my wine and my milk.

Our Daily Bread

Conversation, dull and common
Balm for scar and wounds begotten.
Silken dressing, healing gauze
Applied a'plenty for lesser cause.

Food for heart at table often
Noted little, soon forgotten.
Yet death awaits for lack of taking
Heart and bond in hunger aching.

Your voice, my salve for troubled thought
The wine of calm and warming brought.
My daily bread of promise given.
Sustaining feast and taste of heav'n.

The Long Night

From deep we cry our screams of resistance.
And you answer.
You answer with the else and the other.
You draw us,
               compel us,
                      convict us.

In our Jacobness you honor our struggle.
Yes, honor.
And the name we ask for, you give anew,
But with cost of your mark, the thorn unresolved.

Your grace is sufficient.
Your grace is sufficient.

We Run

We run.
Heavy a foot, with inner battle
The end nowhere near.
We run.
The call of the race drives us on.
A cheer from the side, a comrade's word.
A moment to moment decision made
We run.
When from the course, a brightness shown
The beauty of light and hue and shade,
Mercy seen, though unforeseen.
We run.
Lighter the feet, joy of breath
Flush with flow of rapid heart
Reminded so the reward of journey
Of struggle deep and grit of will
We run.
Corner turned, the end in view.
Quickening pace, with all resolve.
We speed to finish step in step
We run.
Mystery lies beyond the line
Yet forward we drive with weary delight
As soul compels and conviction sustains.
We run.

Passion

Knowledge yields but little
        That heart and soul be filled.
From objects stark and lifeless
        No noble acts are willed.
But passion is the ether
        By which the cosmos fly;
And courage soars, and armies cheer,
        And mighty anthems rise;
And love professed, and poems penned,
        And songs of beauty sung.
But passion too, that poisoned sword,
        By which great harm is wrung;
Life is lost, and cities felled,
        And horrid acts unspoken;
Hearts are pierced, wounds made deep,
        And bonds of love are broken.
Great peril is in passion,
        Unbridled by fair heart;
But empty, dark and soulless is
        The world without its mark.
We choose the way of passion,
        Amid its strife and storm;
But through the clouds and torrent,
        Resplendent days are born.

Truth

Gaze but long enough,
        Entangled thought doth see:
Lakes of sand, Potemkin wealth,
        A marionette beauty.
With deeper gaze the truth we craft
        Confirms our vested stand;
Aside all else that might conflict,
        As conscience sore demands.
O what might to breach the wall
        Of practiced self-deceit;
By time and age it crumbles;
        Regret-filled floods run deep.
Protect me from refracted truth
        Through lense of selfish ways;
And let me see the truth that is:
        Your warmth, your touch, your gaze.