The Eyes of God

A sunrise begins upon the horizon

And I sit upon the dew covered grass,

Gazing with simple awe,

    Wondering...

        What color are Your eyes?

Are they the crystal clear blue of Your sky?

Are they the crisp, sharp green of Spring?

Do they match the Summer storm clouds?

Do they shimmer like purged and purified gold?

Might they compare with the pearlescent stars?

Might they match the vibrant violets of the earth?

Could they be the deep, rich brown of the soil?

Could they gleam with the green-blue of a clean lake?

...

Under the Lamp-post

There stands an old lamp-post of metal,

Its branches are bare but black as stone.

Its panes of shallow glass are tinged and fringed

In antique aria and sepia.

Ever-steady flickering candlelight

Gleams against the new fallen snow.

A bright chested robin flits and floats

To rest on an ornamented orb,

Singing a song against the tyranny of winter,

Defying the blistering and boisterous cold

And ever hanging, ever ganging icicles. 

...

Who Are We?

Who is He who commands the storm?
Who is He who guides every lightning bolt?
Who is He who speaks with the voice of thunder?

Where is he who can speak His words?
Where is he who can see His throne?
Where is he who can understand His ways?

...