November 07, 2004

A work slowly in progress.

Okay, many of you already know a bit about my past and my history. The story really will revolve around how I became a priest, a great priest, popular, and well liked. A priest who was marked by his superiors to be a Bishop. A priest who never had faith in this religion of Catholicism, not even in the beginning.

Really my life of service started whenI was a very little child. The days I remember most about my childhood are all days of playing. My play was fairly normal........except it always revolved around one theme; being a hero. My heroism always took many forms, I was the Batman most often, yet on occasion I was Mighty Mouse, Superman, the Bionic Man, King Arthur, a cop, a fireman, a secret agent, a ninja. These things are relevant because they were the fabric of my imaginary life for almost 14 years. For that time, since I was a mere pup, I fought crime, suffered alone, brought justice and peace to the world.

This log will be my first attempt to articulate in words the journey of my first 30 years of life. My beginnings, my middles, and my continuings. As my friends and associates and strangers, hopefully you'll help encourage a relatively unorganized and lazy man into finishing a work that has been brewing in mind only for some 6 years.

Enjoy my missives. There will be more to follow.

Frozen Hero
It was in the silent scream of snow I realized
I was destined
I built my kingdom from the lonely coldness
warm enough to freeze
I surrounded the bland world of ice with the color of my eyes
I danced with the lords and ladies of that solstice and saw I was
in the glaciered world surrounding me
but the master of the color
a king amongst kingdoms that do soften
a lord amongst none but who are seen in my color alone
my world was frozen, soon it relented
there in the spring I was left holding the dripping, wet remnants of my kingdom
destined again
to be
yes, in the warmth of that dreaded spring time, I can turn
see past the color outside of my own eyes
and find in it the empty whites of the globes of color resting in my tired sockets
alone again
away from the world of that vernal equinox
to find the silent screamto be warm enough
again to freeze
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