Omnis Creatura Ingemescit

The ache starts in my gut,
wrenching the past into soluble dreams
that mix with pain into churning,
burning with desire, yearning.

It spills out in bloody bile,
a million souls in a torrent of screams—
here for justice, there for bread—
fed with crushing wait instead.

The ache bleeds to my heart,
dissolving the future in polluted streams
that seep into my body’s earth:
dearth of life, void of worth.

It stiffens me in rigor’s grip,
a billion souls lose a war of extremes—
here of peace, there of breath—
breathless, until love conquers death.

– MWP 2014 (Advent)

This is copyrighted material. If you enjoy this, please pass it around with a mention of my name and a link to this page or the website (www.michaelwilliampahl.com).

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Bookish

Malcolm loved The Book Nook, that rambling, rickety bookstore on West Second Street.

It was something about the smell, that universal book smell: crisp and crackly with a hint of dusty wisdom and just a touch of unexpected spice, like musky vanilla. And the sounds: all that silence echoing provocatively around the swish of pages turning, the occasional cough or muted conversation, the rasp of a chair on the hardwood floor.

And of course the books. Old books, new books, bestsellers, classics, cheap books, leather-bound rare books—it didn’t matter. Books beckoned him higher up and further in, worlds unending, whole worlds unexplored.

The coffee shop in the front corner was a bonus. As was the brunette barista with the mischievous smile, the kind that makes you think there’s more to the story than a mere blurb might suggest.

– MWP 2012

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Newtown, Connecticut

Life is made of little things:
a daughter’s smile, a lover’s kiss,
the whispered word of warm embrace—
trifles, weighted down with grace.

– MWP 2012

This is copyrighted material. If you enjoy this, please pass it around with a mention of my name and a link to this page or the website (www.michaelwilliampahl.com).

Love’s Sweet Kiss

A heart holds out against the storm,
battens down hatches in violent sea.
Waves piling on waves, pounding waves;
sheets of icy rain in arctic wind,
slicing through slick surface, sinking deep inside.

Until, unchecked by cold, by bitter freeze,
love’s sweet kiss comes,
breathing warmth and saving grace—
mercy, grace and mercy—
pressing gently, softly, in flaming tenderness.

– MWP 2011

This is copyrighted material. If you enjoy this, please pass it around with a mention of my name and a link to this page or the website (www.michaelwilliampahl.com).

Nineteen Years

You hold my breath still,
a gasp of inspiration,
ensnaring me, as ever,
in its simple grace.

You glance and catch my eyes—
that favoured look has passed
a thousand times or more,
meaning held in trust.

You speak, and in your voice
I hear the sound of children,
laughter, gentle whispers,
memories of tears.

I hold your hand in mine,
set in well-worn grooves
of soft anticipation,
love folded in.

– MWP 2013

This is copyrighted material. If you enjoy this, please pass it around with a mention of my name and a link to this page or the website (www.michaelwilliampahl.com).