A Dog’s Prayer

Pride has locked me in a cage, where I sit;

indulging my selfish desires willingly

and becoming bloated by them.

 

My eyes won’t gaze beyond these confines;

while everything they see

appears as a reflection only of me.

 

Free me from this squalor that I’ve loved;

don’t let me be the dog

that returns to his vomit.

 

But let me be the little dog;

who gathers crumbs beneath Your table

and feeds upon Your flesh.

 

Train my eyes to see only you, O Lord.

My ears to hear only your voice, O Master.

 

This pride has left me in the cold;

a heart where dwells my vanity

in sweet and sickly emptiness.

 

Please don’t leave me here throughout this night;

but let me sleep upon Your bed

and feel the warmth that is Your love.

 

Call me from this dog’s house;

into the Master’s chamber

and let me gaze into Your eyes.

 

Place me on your leash and lead me;

tether me to Your mercy

and don’t let me stray.

 

I will wait at the door until You return;

Come to me and let me be

at your side forever.

 

~FS

Footsteps In The Snow

Five men walking through the snow,

walking neither fast nor slow,

no man talking as they go,

five men walking in a row.

 

Dressed in black from head to toe,

like ravens black against the snow,

beneath their cloaks with heads bowed low,

fighting through the wind’s cruel blow.

 

Ahead a tree of gnarled boughs,

an arching, twisting, silent gallows,

the sun’s stark rays casts its shadows,

like Christ’s arms stretched across their brows.

 

Each man arrives at his own tempo,

each casting off his earthly sorrow,

with hope enkindled for tomorrow,

these men together with face aglow.

 

Why do they travel through the snow,

and suffer through the wind’s cruel blow,

to stand beneath this silent gallows,

and offer up their earthly sorrows?

 

To find true freedom from sin’s law,

through Christ the healer of every flaw,

in praise of God with fear and awe,

to sing forever, Hallelujah!

 

~FS

Imprinting

When I was born

I looked up into her eyes

and I dwelt in love.

 

She held me

in her arms and close

to her breast.

 

Her skin was cool,

my thoughts were warm;

at peace and in comfort.

 

Soothed by the maternal

hum and thrum

of her heart.

 

Through water the Lord

led me in

from my wandering.

 

He led me

into my heart,

where peace blossoms.

 

I see His beauty

and understand;

I am cradled in mercy.

 

My thoughts are stilled;

I can hear, and feel, and know,

the birthplace of Love.

 

~FS

August 3

Three things upset the balance of the body’s temperament: lack of restraint in our diet, a change in the weather, and the touch of the demonic powers.

The person who listens to Christ fills himself with light; and if he imitates Christ, he reclaims himself….

Rancor is the soul’s leprosy. The soul contracts it as the result of disgrace or punishment, or because of suspicious thoughts.

~St Thalassios the Libyan

A Call To Arms

Lord God disturb the peace

that my complacency enjoys.

 

Bring war and unrest

to my world-weariness.

 

Mercilessly stab the heart

of my selfish complaints.

 

Bring death to the nest

where anger sleeps within me.

 

Cut off the head of my pride

and cast me to my knees.

 

Do all of this I pray

that I may find freedom,

and see clearly,

Your Kingdom.

 

~FS

Keith (A Man of Silent Sacrifice)

At just nineteen he took possession of a mighty B-17,

The Army Air Corp’s durable workhorse

Continental Europe’s liberating air force

The bomber known as The Flying Fortress,

He signed his name on the dotted line, to pilot this war-machine.

 

No longer a boy in Forty-three, he took to the skies in battle,

On December 5 to Paris and back

Then Kiel, Ludwigshafen and Osnabruck

Ringing in the New Year over Cognac,

Five missions into a long campaign, he’s a man not easily rattled.

 

A man of silent sacrifice

Of the special ones who fly

Young men who defend us

War eagles of the sky.

 

A modest spiral notebook logs the record of his tour,

In columns, names and dates and years

No embellishments or fanfare

Thirty missions in European air,

A marathon of horror that most men could not endure.

 

The logbook doesn’t tell the tale of the courage, fear and loss,

Friends like brothers gone too soon

Flak and Messerschmitts at noon

In dense fog the barrage balloons,

Nor does it mention his receiving the Distinguished Flying Cross.

 

A man of silent sacrifice

Of the special ones who fly

Humble warriors who protect us

Liberators of the skies.

 

His was the lead position, throughout life as in the war,

Husband, father, grandpapa

Honor, duty, fidelity

Service was his earthly call,

Giving all on every mission, and leaving nothing more.

 

Upon his final flight from earth, the stars bright in the sky,

The moon casting the fields aglow

Cultivated row upon row

Stars above and stripes below,

Our nation’s banner, as God’s creation, enfolds him in its glory.

 

A man of silent sacrifice

Of the special ones who die

Our fathers who watch over us

The sentinels of the sky.

 

~FS

War

I witnessed two altercations;

a theme with variations.

 

Men fighting o’er a patch of pavement;

Dogs fighting o’er a piece of excrement.

 

The stakes seemed about equal;

The contestants pitched in battle.

 

With fury they attacked;

Each on the others back.

 

Autos jockeying for the pole position;

Canines chewing on an old emission.

 

Skirmishes with a tragicomic ending;

Car crashes and a lot of foul digesting.

 

As I mentioned I saw two battles;

and the stakes were nearly equal.

 

~FS