Christopher Michael, gay, gay poetry, homosexual, lgbt, queer

Spring

Spring

Now, make peace with the past, from infant bawling
Shitting in diapers, suckling on mama’s breast,
Things that infant’s do til next we are children.
Playful, wary tots learning what our human destiny
Provides, succumbing to the laws of man and nature.

From childhood’s limited capacity of understanding
We come to know Death for what it is: a passage
From this realm to that unknown, whether it signifies
Eternal slumber in heaven’s realm, angelic choirs
Sing the unknown void for eternity.

Childhood brings it rough and tumble ways, children’s
Games and learning, from run spot run, to volumes
Of intellectual lore. Children’s ways lead to adolescence,
To the perfect Spring of life when all should be joy, though
Tiz all mass confusion, hormones raging, questions asked
And never answered. How can one know what lies
Ahead when each diverges in its own story.

The jarring transition to adult, where education complete
We set out upon the world to make our mark. Jobs and
Love we seek, to not be alone on this long quest.
Dawns on us to understand as life forwards, recognizing
Death for what it is, that moment in time, in the midst of
Any life, long or short, or even infancy, when life as
We know it ceases, abruptly: one breathe here then not!

Between the two, birth and ceaseless Death, lies a
Valley deep and wide, life’s joys and tribulations.
Some find it beautiful. Some through Fate’s decrees
Doomed to walk the streets in rags, their minds
In far off places. Some go to war and die while
Others sicken leave as well. Some are maimed
And long for Death, while others walk the earthly
Path in happiness, foreign territory for many.

It matters not what we do along the journey, for
We can spread joy or cause great harm, for most
Something in between. Knowing, as we’ve known from
Almost birth, that Death comes in the end, bringer
Or sadness to those who remain, bringer of peace
To those who suffer. We live, that one thought to make
The most of this short journey upon green earth.

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Christopher Michael, gay, gay poetry, homosexual, lgbt, queer

Winter

Winter
 
The infinite, presence, energy, whatever in your mind
Be that power greater than self, needs not be understood!
 
It is not that God was angered by Eve’s brazen quest
To understand why we were created, placed here
To run this rat race, dodging through obstacles in
Maze, a short-lived journey through time, bumping
Into walls and meeting others on the path.
 
No! I think God’s anger was that children disobey.
Only through disobedience is great Art created.
Only through defiance of what our elders spake or
Prophesied with turbulent words decried, tried to keep
Us from tumbling down the security of the sand castles
They’d already built. Yet, each wave of the ocean crashes
Down then ebbs out to sea, washing the protestations
Of those come before, far out into the deep.
 
What the elders built, leaves room in a crowded place,
For new thoughts to enter: Art is not static, nor is life.
Then I must conclude, neither is God.

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Christopher Michael, gay, gay poetry, homosexual, lgbt, queer

Fall

Fall  

You said to me what of God, what does that feel like?
Is it He or She? I respond, does it matter?
I say a simple prayer each morning and each night
the words are crudely penned, the thought is
Powerful. Though I am powerless over many things,
My destiny, what other’s do, how this planet spins, in humility
Turn my strength to God, whatever it might be for
Solace, comfort, resting in the arms of its strength,
Guided by that Will all knowing, it is greater than mine.
 
Man has made a mockery of God, demanding other see,
There is but one God answering to a million names.
Man created graven images, temples with spires
reaching to the clouds, religions and tomes of great
Wisdom, all obfuscating that which is simple.
Simply an energy making the galaxies spin in their orbs.
 
I have been a nay sayer from early years, decrying
That God is not, that the possibility is heinous and
Ridiculous in concept. As I approach this older time
Upon my chosen path, I recall my father’s words that
In declining years, one finds peace in knowing that God
Watches, guides, and at the end releases.

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Christopher Michael, gay, gay poetry, homosexual, lgbt, queer

Summer

Summer

The final question I must ask is simply this: If God
Is, then why is life so fucked up!
Of course there’s no answer. I didn’t expect there
Would be.
I believe this simply theory, whether you share it:
We were given life, offered a journey through time,
Be it hours or decades, to find our way, to stumble,
Fall, rise, rinse and repeat, with God there for solace.

 
God knows his children must embark this journey,
Learn only from their mistakes. I believe that God would
Have it no other way, for when I am given answers without
Finding them for myself, I do never learn the lesson.
It is such with life; I do not always learn that Lesson the
First go round, nor the second and sadly the third or fourth.

 
Eventually, with pain a touchstone, I do learn, then move
On to life’s next challenge. Now With my decades behind,
I see that death is God’s Answer to the question—live
This life as it has been given, question not what lies beyond.
 

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