“Wisdom can be just as serious a trap as folly. A life guided by wisdom alone reaps an atmosphere of justice rather than grace and turns ones perspectives to lofty thoughts beyond appropriation to those in need. Therefore, we resolve that, love is not defined by measures of wisdom alone.”
- M. Mayfield
Set some other design in place
Give life unto the forlorn
On the seas, eventually
We’ll drag our weight into another shore
You light the waves for me
And calm the open seas
With seasons change in tide
Your here, with me
But it took you this long
to sort me from the drift
Weaken, tremor, a failed recall
Undo me again, now with less gall
With more sublet downwards for the in-flowed calm
and add a place for more withdrawal,
This theatrical deference, no
Isn’t a play, It isn’t a fake!
No, this is really me
Underneath it all
Hidden in a murky light
in a pool of bloody ranter
Her golden hair overtakes me
Her smile comes and wakes me
Wakes me from it all
Be now my “face-of-promise”
From this menial toil
Going from your mothers arms
To the graven world
Just to wait and wonder
Just to wait and wonder
Just to wait and wonder at it all
Tuesday 19 May, 2009
Lost!
The sounds you hear inhibit an emotional response similar to that of a lark descending into the dark skies of Hades; ripped out of heaven by tormented devastation. My lost ones are aching for but a soft cool touch from above: even a fine dew from presence to presence of the glory indwelt by man and by “I am”. What is it that now awakens this desire in your souls, apart now from flesh, apart now from sensory addictions. Give them, my children, my own, a fresh wind like the Autumn’s cold kiss. Love me, want me! My bridal dressings were made up for you. My myrrh and frankincense have been permeating the rooms prepared for you. Oh, I long to love you. Flesh of my flesh and blood of my blood. Whether this time is but passing or nearer eternities threshold, I’ve prepared a way to reach you, oh lost ones.
Hope a long way off
[written just after the sudden death of my mother]
Put off everything for a moment; spoke my words unto my mothers ash Pined to recover my once pleasant manner over a many of time Eaten away by a new year’s death come to pass
Your hope is a long way off, set on a distant shore The peace of a thousand ages, lost its way to this soul And life is a constant wave, beats Only to build up this bitter hull
Oh lead me to the place where I can find you
Oh lead me to this place that you’ll be
Lead me to the rivers I used to drink from
Draw me to my knees, speak breath into me
Your hope is a long way off, set on a distant shore and my vessel long lost its way, having no rutter no oars And this life is an endless day from midday heat into the dark nights cold Taking me to that distant shore
desire and distractions
are what hold me back
could it be the doors to a life of golden promise
are just around the bend
twenty-seven years
my dimly lit path guides me home
again, again.
savior to the lost, wasn’t it in your name
brother of our destitute and weary laden men
seek for us in the thick
my fathers’ house is warmed and well set
expectant of the visitation
in days end and rise
He looks out o’er the stray
to welcome them home
~ m. mayfield
- There is no mediocre lifestyle in the kingdom. The value of the common man’s desire to live a common life has become a rarity indeed. What a blessed existence; to be satisfied.
m. mayfield
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SOLEMN REVERBERANCE
From the fold of life splinters are inherent, even from birth
Enough of us are old, enough of us naive
Enough to know there is something beyond these ailments
For despite any pleasurable sensations we would find here
Apart from the resonance and reverberance our ears may hear
Cut away these satisfactions, we are left hollow
Left hungry and poor
But my loves and my woes aren’t the culprit of my crimes
The thorns in my side
No, these decisions were mine
Peel back any sins past, there is the evidence, if any
Our beings wilt and perish separated from Thine holy presence
For these [our] eyes have seen the coming of the Lord
His hosts flesh stirs to be at peace, to remain at peace
And for this there is no other remedy, No one, solitary
The Earth itself is spry to the call of the Creator
And my heart is dead, say from this call
As the foul in the heaven sway on the breath of the grounds warm exhale
As the doe stride to and fro, never ceasing to just be
Refashion our identities; in a sweeter motif, glorious in Thee
~ m. mayfield
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