“Now they strike us against each other like dry rocks and set us on fire with a hunger nothing can feed.” – AI, from The Great German Army, Russia, 1943
I don’t think it can rain hard enough to wash all my sins away.
“Let it come, as it will, and don’t be afraid.
God does not leave us comfortless, so let evening come.” – Jane Kenyon
You give me just what I can handle,
but no more! Not a drop over-full do You
throw into my bucket. Not another
heap of hay across my shoulders, wide.
You do not burden, or so You say, but
rare do I believe that! My bucket
is quite full, Sir! My shoulders cannot
bare another bale!
Perhaps I can handle more than I dare
think. Perhaps You are molding me
into something great I cannot yet see.
I like the thought of something great
of me to be made, but I also like the
thought of easy days! The scale is
tipping past the balance You love
I must admit, You have brought me
quite far. You have shown me beauties
of sunrises and sunsets over many
different lands. So if you do not leave
me comfortless, I can go glad into
the blackest night! If you do not leave
me comfortless, then no man shall
stand against me!
As you know, I’ve lost some poems
For some I didn’t mind the losing
But others, the few of significance,
losing them has brought me nothing
“To make room for headstones
marking where and how long and who.”
Title: given by scholars.
Scholar: title given by teacher.
Teacher: a leader of students.
Student: a learner who needs neither title nor teacher to be considered a scholar.