If I should live again, I’d be a  frog
For tadpoles insubstantial  cause no fright
Yet they change but not upon my blog

They change their being, leap up from the bog
As  bread is changed by holy, priestly rites,
If I should live again, I’d be a  frog

In  deep water,  luminous as fog,
The frogs live on the edge of human sight
Yes they  croak but not  till we’re in bed

As lovers lie  down naked on their rug
They tempt the frog, the adder, the termite
Then  they rage upon the death of God

As the  wheel  turns, see, it drips with blood
The human race is ground up, we’re a blight
Yes,  someone, somewhere, once  did something good

Oh dark, oh grey, oh where is the new light?
Seems like the  frogs, the Lord leapt out of sight
If I should live again, I’d be  your  god
I’d save the world by turning  us to frogs.

 

In Praise of Not Not Reading

We cannot understand   the sufferings of man
The holocaust, the murder of the Dove.
The grasp for ill,  refusal of the good.
The will to power,  and what we might become.

 

Where are the saints in their communion?
Where is God, they say he’s total love?
We cannot understand   the sufferings of man
The holocaust, the murder of the Dove.

 

We need  to see in order to become.
There is light inside, below, above.
The sun shines through transparent  new red leaves
Acceptance is Job’s answer,I believe.
We can’t explain  the sufferings of man

 

The body is the sacred space of love
Created by the fusing of two cells.
Within the holy body  spirit  dwells,
God ‘s inside; God is not high above.

In Cohen’s song, God is the holy dove.
In the Bible, different symbols tell.
The fiery bush, the still small voice speaks love
To me and you, the fusion of two selves.

The world needs no  dark demons hand in glove
We  perform  our evil very well,
Of salvation, who are we to tell?
We gas children; see, the torture lives.
Their bodies kill the sacred space of love