On Death & Friends

If I had kept my lies,
I would not now be free,
But when I told the truth,
My friends took leave of me.

If I had not spoke out,
I'd speak now from the grave,
And tearful friends reply:
"If we had known, we'd save

You from your lonesome way,
But now, alas, you're dead,
For sin has took your life!
Now nothing can be said!"

But since they know the truth,
They treat me as I'm dead,
But truth has set me free
From fickle friends who'd said

That anything they'd do
To save a wretch like me,
But they compare not to
The One who set me free.

For now I want to live,
And I have will to do,
So freely I do live,
But without friends like you.

Reproach

When you suffer reproach,
You do so to stand again in proachfulness,
For you can not be proached upon, again,
Without you were proached before.
But like a good fool you wandered
Toward a something not known,
Shiny and alluring and almost certainly expensive,
And as you stood there beneath the wantonness of plastic
You heard a sound as of your mother's voice,
And behold, her face, mouth corners turned down, looked upon you as if to say,
"Draw near to me, and do not go so far again."

So, you return, eyes down, head down, shoulders down,
And walk fifteen paces back
Where skirtside you waltz among tomatoes and cereal boxes
Through the grocer's aisle,
Where one who cares for you unyielding
Puts food into your cart.