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A River's Chant

THE WOLD LIKE THIS!

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

The Sound of Creation

On the Edge of a Dead World

Shadows of December

Unholy Love

Fire from a Distant Life

Follow the Birdsong

Archibald

Frozen Retreat

A Silent Knowing

Sacred Crone

Welcome Jack

Morning Candle

Please Live

A Multitude of One

Love is Now

Remembering Spring

Canvas of Gold (A Tribute to Poetry Sites)

Someone Else's Paradise

April Snow

Night of the Broken Glass, Revisited

In a Moment of Understanding

Requiem for Yesterday

Forbidden

Visions Released

Intense Imagery (A Haiku)

For our child

Dance Upon Shadows

A Rose

Night bus home

A Comfort Sent to You

Black Lung

Restless

January 14th 1995

Foolish hearts

Heart to Heart

Returning Hero

Old and New

Words

Shades

Clutch

Going back

The Warrior

Facing reality

In the wind

Loyal soldier

Lifespan

Sitting

Living machine

Revolution in Bloom

I Am Not Spoiled Stinky Curdled Milk

Yes, Leonard...It's Math Again Tonight

Winds of time

The Power

What

Hungry for life

Autumn

All men

Man with no name

The face at the bar

Questions

 

Love is Now


I can smell the darkness
while flecks of Orion are still
falling from the pines.

Restless November looms over
my cherished Autumn

and something has to happen,

but all I want are snapshots
of imagined glory,
streaks of victory
I once named Youth.

Yesterday is all that
matters in these porcelain
days;

such a comforting slumber
when your whole life is locked
inside what was
and what will be.

The earth bleeds while we play.

Half the sky has surrendered,
a black helmet closes in
and the war is spilling
through the trees:

blood and gold,
glowing in the moment.

A perfect death.

Soul-light dances to the
melody of now, but still
we live in tomorrow
or yesterday
or whatever feels no pain.

But nothing green will stay.
What we love will shatter us;
hold it now
before its absence makes us
long for this one
immaculate second,

before we are a soul
hungering for the body
that made us whole

and willing to sell
that very soul for another
day with the fragile,
beating heart we believed
would never stop.

Love may last forever,
but we prove it just once
in one flash of gilded light,
in one season
we call life.

Patricia Joan Jones





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