Don't give up on hope.
It hasn't given up on you
To spite
The places
Where it's hiding.
It's shy you know,
Shyer than you might think
For one of the principal virtues.
It does not feel the need
To show up upon demand.
In fact, it prefers 
To be wooed like a woman. 
Wouldn't you?
So next time you think
You've lost her,
Try sending flowers,
The flowers of belief.
There is nothing more persuasive 
To the invisible
Than to be seen.

The people that you seek
Are so far from your imaginings
That you would not know them
If you met them on the street.
You might not condescend
To greet
These lowly Kings 
Who have no use for earthly things
Except as a means to save your soul.
And the world they live in
Is upside down
To yours.
If you saw it,
You would not believe.
You would not choose it,
For to do so would mean
The relinquishment of all that
Which you hold most dear.
Don't you see?
That they are the beggars here
And you the beggars there.
But you knew that.
You've read how He
Descended below all things.
And you know how it was 
That Lazarus rose 
To that lofty seat 
Beside our father Abraham.
But I suppose
That it is no wonder 
That you don't choose to greet
That ruin that propels us 
Into mystic things.
And I suppose it's only meet
That we stand upon our feet
While we still can.
But IF
There burns within you
The shame of making gain,
Then perhaps there's hope 
That you too
Might descend
And rise again
Above some thing
That once you were.
And I think that's why
They haven't left us yet,
Why their miserable plaintive faces
Still look up
From underneath.
They love us - I think.
Or why else 
Would they suffer our disdain?
Why would they descend
To be so wretched 
In our eyes,
If not for hope 
That some would choose
The riches of heavenly things?

I am so sorry
For my ingratitude.
So sorry for my unbelief.
So sorry!
Please forgive me!
Lead me into the sea of faith.
Drown me in belief.
Bury me deep
In abandon.
Plunge me down
Into the depths of trusting grace
And leave me there
Till I'm cured.
And then raise me 
To your purposes, 
Oh God!
I pray.
And leave nothing 
Of the thing that thinks
That it can solve itself.
It can't. I see.
But something clings to the vines 
That wrap themselves to lesser things.
And they will fail.
They are a trap.
And still
I am curled up 
In their deceit.
Oh fool!
Oh treacherous, 
Forked tounged snake!
Release your grasp
And let Him sweep you away
Into all you are,
Into all that waits 
Into the reality of that world
Which lies beyond 
What you can see.
Oh please!
Please forgive me
For my ingratitude!
And free me 
From my lesser self.
Make me ONE
With Thee!

There's enough,
It's true,
If you believe.
There's enough time 
To lovingly care for the gifts
That you receive.
It’s true,
If you believe.
So slow down
And release your grasp 
Of all those things 
That lie beyond 
That which you own 
Just now.
And trust in the unseen
To provide for illusive tomorrows.
They are a wriggling, slippery, poisonous toad.
And you will not escape 
The seeking them
Without defiling
Your soul.
“But we’ll die!” you say,
If we rely upon today.
True.
You will die to the thing
You thought you’d be,
And live unto that
Which you always were and are - 
A child of the unseen,
A receiver of gifts
And lover 
Of the Giver 
​Of such things.