The Seasons: A Poem

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Sunrise over Amazing Grasses Family Farm The mad Artist wields His brush, Painted colors rush, To life and give flush, Before the quiet autumn hush. The life seems to pour, As colors fall to the floor, To be seen no more, Outside the dark, grey door. Brightness from below, Sun upon the snow, High, cold clouds blow, Flakes and ice appear to grow. The man melts with little seen, Underneath, pale, grey green, Hides life in dark unseen, Waits for warmth and to careen. Buds on branches show, Patience starts to grow, Trickles, streams and veins flow, Bringing fruits of melted snow. Sprung to life it springs, Bees, birds, sound rings, Lush green flings, Its gift bounty brings. Green growth gives one last rush, Underneath the Painter's brush. The mad Artist wields His brush, before the quiet autumn hush. More poetry is available from James M. Hahn in  The Last Dragon and Other Poems  available now. My new book of cryptogram puzzles " Secret Messages from the Saints " is avai
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Into the Night: A Poem

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The sadness of Christ,
For the coming sin,
This one shared his table,
His cup, once a friend.

Betrayal, deceit, and lies,
Who is it Lord?
Surely, it is not I?

One who sits and sups,
One who witnessed all,
One who values passing things,
One who Satan calls.

Betrayal, deceit, and lies,
Who is it Lord?
Surely, it is not I?

Upon his breast his beloved,
This morsel do you see,
To him whom I give,
One last attempt a friend to be.

Betrayal, deceit, and lies,
Who is it Lord?
Surely, it is not I?

The sin completed,
If only in the heart,
No turning back,
The night that here did start.

Betrayal, deceit, and lies,
Who is it master?
Surely, it is not I?

Back to the Son,
He follows shadow low,
The silver loses glimmer,
Upon the path he chose.

Betrayal, deceit, and lies,
Who is it rabbi?
Surely, it is not I?

It was night, as always is,
When going away from Him,
Away from the Light, into the darkness,
The black pit of selfish sin.

Betrayal, deceit, and lies,
Who is it LORD!?
Surely, it is I.

More poetry is available from James M. Hahn in The Last Dragon and Other Poems available now.

FROM THE SAINTS - "These things are written that we bear not malice towards those who injure us; but rebuke them and weep for them; for the fit subjects of weeping are not they who suffer, but they who do the wrong. The grasping man, the false accuser, and whoso works any other evil thing, do themselves the greatest injury, and us the greatest good, if we do not avenge ourselves. Such a case as this: some one has robbed you; have you given thanks for the injury, and glorified God? by that thanksgiving you have gained ten thousand rewards, just as he has gathered for himself fire unspeakable. [...] Wherefore Christ also repaid him who was about to betray Him with everything opposite. He washed his feet, convicted him secretly, rebuked him sparingly, tended him, allowed him to share His table and His kiss, and not even by these was he made better; nevertheless (Christ) continued doing His own part." - St. John Chrysostom Hom. on St. John #71

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