Saturday, November 11, 2006

My Heart Of Hearts

I'm on the edge and looking down
Or looking o'er but still at ground
I'm looking over, down the ground
And there I want to be un-found.

For founded-not is what I want
And what I want is founded-not
For founded is to feel it not
And feel it not's not what i want

I want to want and have it still
Or knowing wanting having nil?
For knowing having want can kill
Yet still I want to kill the nil

I seek to quench that heart's demand
While heart of hearts sinks in the sand.
As one heart's swallowed by the land
Th'other's lifted by my hand

And I choose which to listen to
I give in to my heart's sweet flute
While heart of hearts keeps sinking through
I do what I don't want to do.

But after that song's played all through
I hear my heart of heart's true flute
And see the temptuous other tune
As having played me for a fool

From sand my heart of hearts now plays
A song I've heard on other days
I've dug it out each yesterday
To listen to it for today.

Michael P. Van Gilst

A Dance In the Stillness

Misty breath set against moonlight so pale,
Solar companions whisper their tale.
Silvery starlight so soothing, so sweet
Breaks the silence of darkness in me.

What makes the silence so loud in the ear
When winter’s white breath begins to appear?
The stillness, the chill, the heavenly stay;
In darkness, lights dancing in cosmic display.

Michael P. Van Gilst

Hope After Tears

In this world
A mother cries,
A father sighs,
As a baby dies.

In this world
Of sin-broken lives
A cancer unknown
Attacks and thrives.

But what is there
That makes us cope?
It is the subtle voice.
The whisper of hope.

The voice is heard
By those with ears to hear.
And it speaks of a day
When eyes are free of tears.

It reminds us that we,
When wondering, “Why?”
Can still trust that He
Will tell in due time.

“Trust and rely,”
The attuned ear hears.
“Do not ask ‘Why?’
And forfeit your fears.

“For all you endure,
All you withstand,
All your existence
Is held in my hand.”

Michael P. Van Gilst

If I Were You

If I were you, I’d turn the other way.
If I were you, I’d leave me here to stay.
If I were you, I’d feel like justice served.
If I were you, I’d give what I deserved.

But I am not you
(This fact bodes well for me).
And you are not me
(Else perfect I would be).

I ask for strength and peace
You give me both of these.

Still I turn from you again
It’s only a matter of when.
And I return then to this place
Of abusing God’s own grace.

The lure is oh so strong
That even good seems wrong.
In selfishness submerged
Where sin and flesh converged.

I ask for strength and peace
You give me both of these.

Each time I ask you send
Forgiveness makes amends.
So faithful to me, so true.
So undeserved too.

Forgiveness seventy times seven
Can only come from heaven.
You call me to the same
But the weakness and the shame!

I ask for strength and peace.
You give me both of these.

And so I live in view
Of God’s own grace so true.
And with Your strength and peace
There’s hope for sin deceased.

Michael P. Van Gilst

Sleepwalking

Who can rescue from the doldrums of dreary repetition?
And what defender of ravenous life delineates a requiem
Of lifeless life relived?

The call of the wild
Pales to the call of the mild,
When vision is slighted
And lifeblood runs thin.

__________________________________________________

The wild child looked at me and smiled.
He said, “Sleep so deep and count the sheep,
But wasting life will make you weep.
A yawn of weight may feel quite great
But an active heart prolongs one’s fate.”

So sleep when you must, but hardly the more.
If life gives you time, make haste towards the door!
“Carpe diem!” Clichéd, yet so true.
Grab hold of this day, it won’t wait for you.

Michael P. Van Gilst

Precious, Youthful, Lost

Innocence embodied in child
Tragedy in fleshly same,
They end in sudden communion
And extinguish a youthful flame.

A mournful mother cries,
But the child sees no tears.
A wishful father sighs
When reality meets his fears.

Sons watch fathers die.
And sadness they behold.
But tragedy’s personified
When young ones pass the old.

From precious youthful lost
A parent never heals.
Though time may dull the pain
Completeness never yields.

While memories sustain us
They come at quite a cost.
The price of one’s own child:
Of precious youthful lost.

Michael P. Van Gilst

Cloudy Sky

Cloudy sky, cool breeze night.
Stars don’t seem to show their light.
There’s one there, a fiery pair
Forlorn flames that share their flare.

But hindered view cannot erase
The memory of celestial ‘scapes.
I close my eyes and see them there
Glimmering, glistening, shimmering glare.

Nebulous nuisance to my eyes,
Yet my heart sees the lighted skies.
Each light hung in perfect ‘splay
Just for me to watch them play.

Michael P. Van Gilst


When we can’t see the stars, does it mean they’ve gone away? Isn’t it quite true that they’re still there? So it is with God. Sometimes we can’t see Him there, or see his brilliance, yet we know he’s there. How? Because we’ve seen the stars before and we know we’ll see them again. But more importantly, we know that above those clouds, the stars, all of them, are still shining just as brightly and brilliantly as they were before. God is always shining, even if the clouds block our view.