I walked up to her locked door and whispered my apologies to her. 

Real words, 
from the heart.

She never replied, 
except with the words I have already heard and still hear in my mind...

I don't want to know your name, 
I don't want to play this game, 
I don't want to see your face, 
In my world you have no place...

Those words echoed mentally and off the pictures, 
now slanted on the wall, 
from all the banging and slamming of doors. 

T.S. Deary 
4/26/24 

Elsa is getting older, 
walking slower, 
wanting to turn around sooner, 
go back home, 
to the comfort of the couch and the cooling air of the ceiling fan.

A few years ago, 
she would pull and try to run, 
anxious to make it to the end of the road, 
smelling the air and barking at cats. 

Now she barely notices them, 
as they lounge on the side of the dirt road. 

Perhaps she is content to let them be because she has realized that they ignore her too?

she knows that she is the queen of the house, 
watching the world go on through the window, 
from her cushioned throne. 

T. Deary 
4/26/24

She sang, 
"The Lord is my Shepard...There is nothing I shall want..."

Those words and the melody from the piano, 
filled the sanctuary, 
with the glory of God. 

"The Lord is my Shepard..."

He looks out for and cares for all of us, 
he has numbered the hairs on our heads, 
he heals us with his words, 
his words are the ways of life and truth.

"There is nothing I shall want..."

Even to the point of death, 
no fear of evil will touch me, 
the Lord has spoken, 
all I need comes from him, 
he holds my soul in his hands.

All the shadows, 
cast by the valley of death, 
have been dispelled. 

T. S. Deary 
4/11/24

That morning was humid and windy, 
one of those days when you can smell a storm coming, 
clouds moving across the sky, 
black and grey, 
the color of slate, 
threatening. 

Rainy day, 
blackened sky, 
the wind knocked down a branch by the old brown house, 
breaking a part of the fence, 
scattering the porch cats, 
to a safer spot,
under the house. 

Around noon, 
when the cats were scurrying from the sound of the atmospheric music, 
pounding windows and the metal roof. 

That symphonic sound of thunder, 
displeasing the cats who were once so content to sit on the porch, 
flicking their tails. 

T.S. Deary 
4/11/24 

When I first met Jesus he said the strangest thing to me...
I told him my name and asked if I could be his disciple, 
looking right at me he said..."The tree is know by its fruit, come, stay with us."
This man, charismatic and strange, 
I was perplexed, not knowing what he meant, I began to watch him closely. 

Jesus kept his circle small, 
always ready to see who walked up to him and who slithered, 
He knew all along where Judas's heart was, 
He knew the taste of that fruit would be bitter. 

I was amazed at the power he had over the people.
So thrilling, 
so charismatic and yet so maddeningly humble, 
Surely there must be more?
I grew troubled. 
I think that Jesus noticed too, 
the growing crowds, 
knowing that I did not understand, 
Jesus knew that what I found in those magnetioc crowds was not what he was looking for. 

(Jesus was a lamb and Judas was a snake.) 

Jesus' followers are blind to what he can do, 
if only he would lsiten to me, 
why cant he see how much he could do if he would only use his power? 
There are people who speak his name and blasphemy in the same sentence! 
He could be King, not just a shepard to the lost. 

Then came the day he entered into Jerusalem riding on a donkey!
Throwing people out of the Temple, 
ignoring the priests, speaking of his Father's house and calling it a den of thieves, 
has he lost his mind? 
I could see the rage and I knew that those who criticized Jesus knew how I felt to.
(they also slithered...) 
Jesus could no longer be ignored, 
the massive crowds adored him, 
he kept on drawing them in. 

Jesus spoke about his hour coming. 
He spoke about being handed over and looked at me when he said it. 
(I could see the shadows behind him and his words blended in with them.) 
Soon his hour would be molded into my coming hour and those shadows grew, 
they followed me and influenced me and made me angry amnd resentful. 
The same way I felt when he allowed that woman to pour that expensive perfume on his head and feet and then told me to leave her alone whern I questioned the waste. 

When I went to see the priests I only asked them one question, 
I only asked them what they would give me if I handed him over to them? 
They were delighted and promised to pay me money, 
they promised that they would deal with him fairly and according to the law. 
All along those shadows had grown and were casting over me as if they were hands reaching out to grab me, 
building and building as if it was night. 

The Passover was here and I knew Jesus would eat with is followers and then he would go to Gethsemane, 
it was the perfect spot, 
quiet and away from the crowds, 
those adoring crowds that made me uneasy.

At supper he spoke of danger, 
I am sure he knew! 
He spoke of the Shepard being struck and the sheep being scattered. 
He said all of us would lose faith, 
and that one of us would betray him. 
(the tree is known by its fruit.) 
Once again he startled me with his haunting words, he said,

"What you are going to do, do quickly." 

I left and it was dark. 
The shadows were long and all around and again I had the feeling of being grabbed for, 
faint whispers on the wind, 
a cold touch on the breeze, 
as I hurried ot do what I was going to do. 

In the dark I could see Jesus waiting. 
He was standing but in great distress, slumped shoulders and a fear that I had not seen before. 
This was his hour, the hour he kept talking about. 
His hour, 
my hour was also about to begin, 
when I kissed him ion greeting he mentioned betrayal and told me that my hour had come, 
the hour of shadows. 

They led him away, roughly and my heart sank, 
I followed at a distance, 
engulfed in my shadows, 
regret was building in my heart and overflowing into my tears, eyes swollena and teeth chattering in shivers with a growing dread. 
I began to feel I had been used, 
picked for thisd awful crime, 
the blood of Jesus was on my hands. 

Jesus was right, 
this was my hour, 
this hour of shadows, of decietand underhanded motives, 
I was covered with innocent blood, 
I returned the money to those who gave it to me. 
I threw it all over the ground as they turned away from me. 
The shadows followed me as I made my way to a tree and hanged myself, 
only the shadows remained. 

As the sun rose it cast long shadows all along the ground as I swayed in the breeze, 
around the time that Jesus was being led away the blood draining from his face and body, 
those shadows pulling him further and further away. 

T. S. Deary 
3/20/24 

As I walked out of the house, 
on that Sunday afternoon, 
I noticed the angle of the sun was different, 
less distant, closer, warmer. 

The doorway was beginning to be framed by the pink of  flowers and the white of lilies. 
In my mind I kept repeating that all these things that go away will return again and again. 

I thought of my father and how his broken mind and withered body have passed on and that now he is reborn, 
not just of water and the spirit but into eternal life. 

That glimpse of the coming spring, 
brief, 
only a fraction of the glory that God has prepared for those who wait on him. 

On Ash Wednesday, 
we all made our way over to the sanctuary, 
quiet and solemn, 
remebering the season and what it means, 
prasing God, 
wanting to stay true, 
to see the journey to fruition, 
conscious of how our bodies will fail, 
and aware that our souls belong to God, 
animated by his very breath. 

Remember baptism, 
that ritualized death by water, 
death to old life, 
water and the spirit,
drwoned to sin, the glamour of evil and all of satan's empty promises, 
committed to respond to the endless push and pull of the love of God. 
We prayed and sang hymns, 
asking God to stay near us, 
a guiding light in a world gone crazy. 

"Remember your baptism and remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return."

I remembered mine, 
I remembered those of my children and that old and tainted life I left behind, 
shedding an old coat and being clothed in white. 

I remembered someone I had known long ago, 
I took him to the doctor and he was told that there was nothing more to be done, 
the end is near and soon you will die. 
It felt like the world was coming down on both of us, 
I said nothing but remained by his side, 
the doctor left the room, 
all I could do was ask if there was anything I could do for him?

"Could you take me to the Church? I feel like I need to pray..." 

The Church was quiet that day, 
red flames and white doves, 
light through the stained glass windows, 
reminders of the glory of God, 
seeking absolution and comfort, 
he prayed, 
aware that to dust he would return,
awake and faithful, 
God would retain his soul, 
and that only the part of life that we know will end, 
the part to come will never end. 

T.S. Deary 
3/15/24

When I considerhow wrong I was for so long I repent and ask forgiveness.
All along I was only badly pretending, 
thinking that I knew so much, 
actaully I was a fool, 
all these obstacles to connection, 
all those walls that I once proudly built as high as I could. 
never seeing or understanding the pain and strife I caused to those I shut out, 
broken honor, 
reserved for myself alone, 
betrayal of station, 
self infatutation, 
short on thank you, 
heavy on blame, 
blind to all that I was given, 
a traitor to all that he did. 

The narcissism of adolesence, 
the totality of arrogance, 
the inability to see five minutes in front of me, 
knowing all but aware of nothing, 
biting the hand that fed me, 
head all empty and mouth never shut, 
crying for want of nothing, 
blaming the one who made my life possible, 
short on honor, 
heavy on demands,
how he never shut me out I could never understand, 
the door was never locked even though I slammed it so many times.

I had no understanding of anything, 
I had no right to criticize you, 
no right to demand answers.

I never recognized how hard he tried, 
how quickly I dismissed, 
when the time came to step up he always did, 
more often than not I was there to push him away, 
disregarding the obligation to honor and continuing in rebellion, 
never showing grace, 
never understanding until it was too late, 
now I stand before God, 
and in that skeleton room of confession, 
to pour out my soul, 
because of the wrongs I have done, 
to rectify the guilt I carry, 
asking the Lord for mercy, 
begging Him to forgive my arrogance, 
to infuse his memory into my heart that he may rest in peace, 
I take the lessons to heart, 
I hold them close to me and vow to remember, 
to hear God's law, 
to run to repentance, 
moving from darkness to light, 
despite how it all ended I still believe, 
unshakably and without hesitation. 

It was that feeling of being destroyed by sadness, 
watching his evolving madness. 

He does not remember me, 
yesterday seems so far away, 
adolescent rambling and rebellion, 
horizon so far away, 
now, 
sewing his memories back together, 
to save for later, 
what was once so strong, 
those summer days, 
left me thirsty, 
waiting for autumn, 
dreading winter, 
later I remebered, 
when insence filled the air of the sanctuary, 
sadness looming, 
carried along on a windy day, 
to forgotten corridors, 
dusty shelves, 
piled up with scrapbook photographs, 
images of him in his London Fog coat, 
shiny black shoes, 
icy mornings and steaming coffee, 
never spilling a drop as he drove. 

There will be a time when time runs out, 
a time when days will no longer blend into one another, 
time will cease to go forward, 
when old photos will need to be animated, 
and made to speak in the dialogue of memory.


And in remebering we find...
that first to come is a sense of being crushe dby sadness, 
watching him be slowly swallowed by his madness, 
then, later to come is peace, 
in remembering we wait for that solace to increase. 

T. S. Deary 
6/1/23 - 3/20/24

Enter the champion,
the Son of David, 
Light from Light, 
true God from True God, 
consubstantial, 
His kingdom will have no end...
(these words are truth) 

Enter the loser, 
the pastor in the leather jacket, 
ripped jeans, 
darkness from darkness, 
true lover of self from true lover of self, 
his kingdom will crumble, 
and his words will fall away. 

Those who yell and scream the loudest, 
as if they have something important to say, 
as if they are guided by his spirit, 
are the ones who will fade away. 

The ones who point the most fingers, 
in their flashy, shiny way, 
are the first to fall the farthest, 
the end of all the mental games that they play. 

Acting as if Jesus is just a brand name, 
running across a stage and quoting the Bible, 
so strong and fit, 
so good with words, 
look how he can cry at the drop of a hat, 
look how he can hang with his celebrity freinds! 

Trophy wife, 
fantastic life, 
quote the Bible, 
self to libel. 

You've made his message yours, 
stolen words and twisted, 
likewise to those who listen to you, 
all that flashy style, 
all those lights shining on you, 
all glory to you, 
and to you alone. 

See how he cries at the drop of a hat? 
Skinny jeans and leather jacket, 
preaching, creeping, moving like a cat, 
out of sight from those he controls, 
prowling to fulfill, 
secret drives and passions, 
a liar, one of the best, 
out of control hunger and never full. 

It's the look, 
not the message, 
It's his words, 
not His, 
it's his needs, 
not yours, 
enter the loser, 
the fallen one who will never understand, 
always looking in the mirror and never having the sense to relaize it is only a reflection. 

So whast's the story, 
morning glory? 
Who do you serve? 
With all that nerve, 
the tent has been folded up, 
drinking 
rom that golden cup, 
He has turned his grace form you, 
left behind in your soulless, frozen hue. 

He preaches a fable,
betraying God as he reclines at the table,
his doctrine untrue, 
his church unstable, 
preaching fables, 
truth disabled. 

T.S. Deary 
5/23-3/24 

Why are you so far away? 
I said, 
I need you everyday! 

What raging storms have driven you so far into that raging ocean? 

I swam to you to see you, 
pushing around all that water, 
that threatens to drown your heart. 

Why are you so far away? 
we love you everyday, 
slamming doors and raging words, 
still to us, 
we see your face framed in long blond hair, 
running down the street to meet me on my walk. 

Why are you so far away? 
I want you close everyday, 
just to see you smile, 
to laugh through smiling eyes, 
just open up your eyes. 

There has never been a day, 
when anything has made me love you less, 
but I awoke one day and you were gone, 
so far away from yesterday, 
maybe even tomorrow, 
all around inside my head, 
I miss you all the time. 

I wonder if God answered my prayers just to abandon me to despair? 
Has God had enough of me and left me alone in the wilderness to die? 


He is God and he can do as he pleases.
He does not have to answer to me, 
I wither away as this dry wind and the silence that comes from her, 
those non moving lips and that closed door that never opens. 

Only now have I come to question the reasoning for all this, 
He cannot have led me here for this to be the end? 

From the highest high, 
to the lowest low, 
were to begin, 
to make sense of this?


Heavy mind, 
torn heart, 
torn between wanting to be close to her, 
and not being able to reach her, 
no one cares, 
no one knows, 
everyone wants to jump in and fix, 
I need empathy and compassion, 
so lacking for me but demanded from all else, 
not one freind in my heavy heart, 
only the empty walls of my heart, 
blackened by sadness, 
grief and desperation, 
rainy skies, 
quiet solitude, 
no remedy for relief, 
only this grief and a profound awareness of Divine testing that never seems to end.

Prefaced by this divine Litany of grief, 
all these whys and hows, 
related this divine understanding that eludes me, 
becoming dry kindling and chaff that is burned and mixed into dry ground.

I still want you, everyday to be my daughter, 
I will always ask, 
why are you so far away? 


T. S. Deary 
3/16/24

If ever spilled blood, '
it would be my own, 
running down my arms, 
staiing my shirt and pants, 
collecting in pools on the floor, 
punishment for my sins.

What a mess! 
He was always so neat...look at him now...

Then there would be nothing left, 
nothing to be looked at as beautiful. 

He was never terribly remarkable anyway...

No great loss on that day, 
since there was no greatness anyway.

Carrying razor blades, 
always with bottles of cheap wine, 
lots of cheap wine, 
leaving behind inhibitions, 
building the rage, 
flowing in my veins, 
(that unmanageable rage) 
never been controlled, 
never been shown to have a rational origin. 

Look around and relaize how crazy things can be. 
Look around and listen to all this nonsense given out for free...

Now think of sitting calmly, 
without shaking hands, 
still there is the noise that no one else can hear, 
listen to the thoughts, 
and always fail to comprehend why, 
no one else feels like you do, 
and of how the smallest vibrations, 
in those nuerons, 
get turned on and off, 
by the smallest stimulus, 
like the way the wind blows, 
and then hear how some would say and others remark that he is just to sensitive. 

T.S. Deary 
11/8 - 12/11/23