by divine-design


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Are We the Chosen People…

are we the chosen people?
or the forgotten people?
sapphires and rubies,
or moldy pennies on a cracked floor?

bacon grease, or stardust?
frogs waving batons?
second hand clothes,
dirty spoons in cracked cups?

the faces of tomorrow?
or yesterdays rewritten?
oil stained hands,
fumbling for day old bread?


carrots with whiskers,
diapers filled with excuses?
twelve gauge prayers,
raindrops falling on tin roofs?

Eric Cockrell

 

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Holy Moments…

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It has come down to moments,
perhaps it always was…
small, tiny, rude, and precious moments.
orphaned, common, stinking moments.
holy, infinite, fleeting moments….

I know that God is alive,
I can feel Her breath on the backs
of my ears…
I can feel Her long hair blowing
across my face on the longest nights.
I can hear Her footsteps
in my darkest room…

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There is a magic in the thorn,
a power emanating from the grain of the tree.
I know what forever tastes like,
and yet I have to be reminded.

There are no good and bad people,
just people wearing tired shoes and spectacles.
that which sustains must first die,
and sickness is the path of healing.
does not the bare limb tree grow erect
with longing? do not stars weep in need?
while sparrows draw maps across the mountains,
dying for the kiss of spring.

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Poor people hunched in kerosene rooms,
rolling cigarettes, laughing at the children playing.
while the wealthy toss and turn in sweated sleep,
stroking the guns of apathy…
yet all will die, some more than once,
leaving dust on time’s windowsill.
prayers, and woodsmoke rising from the chimney.

Eric Cockrell


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Tonight a Star Fell From the Darkness…

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Tonight a star fell from the darkness,
A branch was torn from the willow tree.
The wind stopped blowing in the stillness,
And the stranger came for me.
Lifetimes lost and pages counted,
Wings gather voices that whisper prayers.
The shout of trumpets, flesh to flesh,
Follow footsteps climbing stairs.

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Face to face, side by side,
Lines drawn by issues in the sand.
Every name hath both time and reason,
Every scar defines a man.

Tonight a star fell from the darkness,
A branch was torn from the willow tree.
The wind stopped blowing in the stillness,
And the stranger came for me….

Love forged from storm a cathedral,
A woman’s breath, tongue to breast.
Destinies painted by fingers stroking,
Less is more, and more is less.
Tired eyes call from the distance.
A man’s a hymn, a refugee.
Dreams formed from ashes disappearing,
Souls find bodies in the sea.

Tonight a star fell from the darkness,
A branch was torn from the willow tree.
The wind stopped blowing in the stillness,
And the stranger came for me.

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Eric Cockrell

Art by Sulamith Wulfing