Poems

He speaks so softly of His love; a heartfelt petal soft beneath my feet Running water, fresh to quench my thirst Strength and hope  to meet my every need He whispers in my night of gloom. Triumphant tones obliterate illusion’s thrall— “His angels bring release.

This grace-filled sanctuary, Love’s domain, rejects aggressive dreams of mortal sense, its doors forever closed to what would veil the cleansing presence of Truth’s clear light. Bathed in this light no dream of sickness reigns, no sin nor suffering sense nor fear can claim to be.

Let us lose all complication And confusion worse confounded, Nameless fears and agitation If by challenges surrounded We can pray to God our Father, “Open now our eyes to see” Not some complex threat but rather Christ’s sublime simplicity.  —Mike Eldridge.

If, clasping hands together on your chest, You turn your back on all the lights that shine And crouch, and bow your head, and stay depressed— You then might think, “This darkness here is mine. ” But what if you stand up and turn around?  Now lift your head and face toward the light,  And stretch yourself on tiptoe off the ground— The shadow that you cast is out of sight.

my Father paints my consciousness— full-formed, intact, complete. I can have no thought of sickness, of accident, defeat.

Become aware—the kingdom is within, It's not dependent on an outer state, Nor if we're rich or poor, or fat or thin. Although it's not where there is fear or hate.

Like arms cast around a child the solo embraces thought, draws us in. It is the song of Soul perfectly toned to prepare us: the solo is not an interlude, it is the calm vestibule opening to the heart of the Word.

You live an idea of Spirit, incorporeal, innocent, borne on Mind’s high wings where no dust clings. We gather energy from Spirit, read the stars through Love’s purview, and find reality in the science of Soul’s alleluias.

Father, so let us be risen with Thee, Whom but the pure in heart only canst see,      That Thine own Sabbath morn      Look on the newly born,      Giving Thy servants, Lord,            Rest and reward. Dust unto dust is given, earth chords are riven; “Hast Thou forsaken me?” echoed to heaven.

When the bloom is off the rose And the question .