My soul, innate divinity —
the spark of God that lives in me,
connecting one with all the universe,
your light can penetrate the veil
and shine where hateful thoughts assail
the finite realm, and easily disperse
the darkness of mortality.
With two or three in easy reach,
you leap to meet yourself in each,
reminding what we didn’t know we knew.
As seat of peace and love and joy,
you magnify the best, deploy
the rest, and fill the spaces through and through
without a single breath of speech.
When ego gains a head of steam
and plots to keep me in the dream
of nothingness, you hold my fear at bay
until the balance is restored.
You are my wings, my rock, my cord;
without you, I would be a chunk of clay
instead of holiness supreme.
A tentative relationship
lies ribboned, sliced in pieces.
With each destructive, callous clip,
the agony increases.
Tomorrow will undoubtedly
find raging storms subsided,
but, for today, what’s left of me
feels conquered, twice-divided.
As waves of raw emotion crest
and anger wells within me,
engulfed in seeming nothingness,
assurance flickers dimly.
While in the desert of despair,
I’ll cease redundant weeping;
my soul, impervious to wear,
is safe in heaven’s keeping.
2003 Mary Boren
Some higher truths are understood
at once; a solitary quote
can drive a lesson home for good,
while others must be learned by rote.
The holy bible clearly states
“Don’t fear” in phrases that abound
like manna, yet while heaven waits
I set my feet on lower ground.
I only need recall some things
in darkness, for I’ve seen the sky
replete with chariots and wings;
a host of angels standing by.
And knowing Who is present here
is all it takes to banish fear.
2010 Mary Boren
How I used to envy people
who, possessed with certitude,
soar above the plain and steeple
setting straight the misconstrued.
As a young adult, I traded
for a rigid creed, persuaded
sure’s the only way to be.
struggled to accommodate
Feathers flew in hot debate.
Noisy flaps in lieu of balance
simulate a mighty whir
but, when gripped in zealot talons,
dogma’s merely tufts of fur.
Comforted by faith (the closest
place I’ve ever felt I stood
to the truth) I learned osmosis
wouldn’t make me right or good.
Soon the need for battle dwindled,
frantic worries losing steam.
wonder in the Master Scheme.
Then, ostensibly regressing,
tender roots began to sprout.
I became immersed in guessing,
softly growing into doubt.
2004 Mary Boren