Oh Dearest Heart:
Thank kyou for the remembrance of a friend so dear. My best friend of 20 years or more took his own life not to long ago. In the time we knew each other we stole each otherís lovers and lived through more than words could ever express. He never really left any clue for a reason except for this poem written by his own hand as his good-bye. I still find myself blaming myself for all the childish mistakes and mishaps. Perhaps you could check out our newest site .... and thank you so much for mentioning Jane Kenyon, we have been following her and Donald Hallís work for years now. I just bought his last book (Without) I can feel just how bitter and cheated he feels in losing Jane. Death is terrible no matter how itís seen.
God Bless You, The Keeper
As we walk alone,
looking at the ground
Does anyone see us,
in this cold, lonely town?
The eyes that donít see us,
even thoí they stare.
A dumpster for dinner
A bridge for a home
A great crowd of people
Yet weíre still all alone.
So onward I travel,
I wonder how far
A curse born forever
under a wondering star.
This was found in his pocket...
(Stephen Llewellyn Sadler)
Nov. 19th. 1955 - Nov. 23rd. 1995
An victim of suicied
A Day Of Sunshine
O gift of God! O perfect day:
Whereon shall no man work, but play;
Whereon it is enough for me,
Not to be doing, but to be!
Through every fibre of my brain,
Through every nerve, through every vein,
I feel the electric thrill, the touch
Of life, that seems almost to much.
I hear the wind among the trees
Playing celestial symphonies;
I see the branches downward bent,
Like keys of some great instrument.
And over me unrolls on high
The splendid scenery of the sky,
Where through a sapphire sea the sun
Sails like a golden galleon,
Towards yonder cloud-land in the west,
Towards yonder Islands of the Blest,
Whose steep sierra far uplifts
Its craggy summits white with drifts.
Blow, winds! and waft through all the rooms
The snowflakes of the cherry-blooms!
Blow, winds! and bend within my reach
The fiery blossoms of the peach!
O life and love! O happy throng
Of thoughts, whose only speech is song!
O heart of man! canst thou not be
Blithe as the air is, and as free?
(Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)
I Am a Part
I am a part of all that I have been;
The hawthornís shade, the robinís wistful note,
I have the bitter berries in my heart,
The robinís happy message in my throat.
Just as a tree is part of all the sun
That ever shone upon its smallest leaf,
So is my heart a living manuscript
Of all that I have known of joy or grief.
I am the laughter of the waking spring,
The pulse-beat in the root below the ground,
The small hands of a vine against a wall,
A clump of caressing willows closely bound.
I am part of all the friends Iíve known
The love Iíve shared, their laughter and their tears,
The seeking and the finding of a dream,
The braggartís boasting and the widowís fears.
I am a part of all that I have been.
The years have multiplied the bread and wine;
The harvest waits beyond the riverís brim
Where all that I have lost is truly mine. (Edna Jaques)