Whatsmynameagain?

"We think of God in the dramatic things, the glorious sunsets, the majestic mountains, the tempestuous seas; but he is in the little things too, in the smile of a passerby or the gnarled hands of an old man, in a daisy, a tiny insect, falling leaves. God is in the music, in laughter and in sorrow too. And the grey times, when monotony stretches out ahead, these can be the times of steady, solid growth into God. Until we dwell in him and allow him to dwell in us we shall be strangers to peace." - Prayer by Mother Frances Dominica

Really old houses with obtuse rooms Clearing the dust with broken brooms The color blue and weathered veins His life remains a blurry haze Brilliant once, he can’t let go Brilliance is lucky until you’re old It’s only loyal to the mind And his, he left it, far behind He can’t keep a thought to save his life Grasping at images lost in strife This, however, is not the problem Spiraling he arrives near the bottom Rocking and sitting, sitting and rocking A bidding comes, a distance knocking This distance, he remembers, oh so well But of no specifics does it tell No sound, no name, no face A beckoning place, a familiar space The knocking again, he pulls on his sweater He remembers now why he hates this weather It’s the kind that happens behind the eyes That stays in the knees that causes demise It causes a chill to run up the spine “This is it, this brilliance is mine” “I remember now,” he mutters aloud His hand is up, it’s reaching around For what? Who knows, he’s...