Stories of Another Time

 

 

The Poetry of Thomas Theodore Welborn

 

 

 

Come The Season

04-01-92

 

Come the season, again

The sealed book of the earth is opened

The pages torn, jumbled, again

The story they tell likewise.

 

Come the season, my friend

We will walk upon the book

Collecting pages out of order

Yet still their story’s told.

 

A picture of each origin

Develops in my mind

Of he who stood there so long ago

Leaving his history in stone behind.

 

Come the season, what joy

The age of re-discovery

Hopeful and determined to be

In the right place, at the right time.

 

Come the season…

 


 

 

 

Endless

 

We have been here before

Countless times transformed

We have been the sun, and stars

Before the Earth was born

 

We change yet are the same

We turn and yet are still

As one with our creator

His mysteries reveal

 

We seek the seventh heaven

To know him face to face

The answer to our questions

The peace you can’t replace

 

We sacrifice our lives

In answer to his call

Give all we have to give

Hardly anything at all

 

In the greatness of his being

That he would notice us

And care for our endeavors

Merely gathered bits of dust

 

In the vastness of  space   We're imperceptibly small

And in the endless eons of time   How can we amount to much at all…?

When the days of our lives   Are but an instant

Against Eternity, so it seems   How can we be significant?

 

A minute creature on a small planet   That circles a nondescript star

One star among countless,   Innumerable, impenetrably distant

Even at lightspeed   Billions of light years distant

 

Stars, Stars! Stars!

  An unimaginable number

And of such a number

  Billions would have

A planet such as ours

  And perhaps millions

Are peopled, inhabited

  Are those millions of species

Alien…to God…?

Or his true chosen children

Like we believe we are…

                                                           

Thomas Welborn

                                                         12-9-97

 


 

 

 

 

Creed                                                 11-11-99

 

We chose our road

We are always before a crossing of paths

And we pick one

That is to say we did not make the roads

We did not put ourselves upon it

We cannot go back

To stand still is an option, but then

You’ll never know what was ahead

(Or what was down the ones not chosen for that matter)

We have the freedom to choose

A privilege and a burden

A blessing and a curse

We place our foot upon one or the other

No need to look back

The choice being made, make the best of it

Walk it impeccably, with virtue and honor

Never surrender your dignity and never give up

Always uphold the light over the darkness

Keep kindness and self-sacrifice in your heart

Remember our place amid the vastness of the Universe,

That you may maintain a humble empathy

For the Earth and all it’s creatures, even Man

Never forget those who came before, and

Those who died, that we might be free,

And those to come, that they might be free

And most of all remember: In the beginning was the Word,

And the greatest Word is Truth, and the greatest Truth is Love.

 

 


 

 

 

                                                                        (untitled)                                                              7-29-91

 

 

I keep my thoughts in alabaster

Deep beneath the pyramid

By night I descend to the secret chamber

And retrieve them till dawn

 

I open scene after scene

And enter therein at some peril

No hiding place can endure

The sandstorms of eternity

 

Searching here and there

Reveling in discovery, (recovery)

Lightness and harmony

Fill the universe, however briefly

 

Imparted meaning to madness

Restores spirit to soul

Unleashes the prisoner of Karma

To wander blissfully home.

 

 


 

 

 

 

Precocious

 

Birth Mother Earth

Father seed-giver Sun

Makes flesh and bone

Only begotten one

 

Heir to Heaven and Earth

Keeper of ancient ways

Teacher of the right

Unto the end of days

 

Sing a song of joy

Unto the new creation

Lambs lie down with lions

In humble exaltation

 

Angels fill the sky

To shout the tidings given

A son was born to die, yet

In three days he is risen

 

To give the great commission

Until the end of time

That we might,  be sons of light

And partake in the sublime.

  

   12-22-99

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

‘Life As We Know It’                             11-12-99

 

The psychology of a personal philosophy

Is predictably patterned by the paradigm

Of one’s preconceived prejudices, passed down by

One’s parentage, as people of a particular

Population are powerfully persuaded to

Permit no perversion of politic or passion

Purporting to be progress, lest the powers that

Preside over the populous perchance are perceived

As pawns of a putrid plutocracy who’s purpose

To persecute the poor and pamper the posh

Privileged produces provocateurs proclaiming

An End to the pompous proclivities of puerile

Politicians, pursuing peace and prosperity

For all persons in perfect proportions to

A proper percentage per capital, promoting a

Pure paradise to play and propagate in

As originally planned per the Pentateuch

Parables of prehistory; the point to ponder

Is predicated upon the previously provided

Picture positing personal perspective as

The product of place, position, and precepts,

Pre-empting the possibility of perceiving as positive

The pressures pouring and pounding upon the

Placating plebes and pundits, preventing the

New paradigm from performing the ‘prioritizing’

So presently needed.

 


 

 

 

"I am Gandhi"

 

Like the thousands of brave men who said “I am Spartacus!”

I am Gandhi, or rather, he is me.

His ashes floated down the Ganges and spread to all the

Waters of the earth, and now, I am him; I am the guru…

Or rather, that center of being, which Gandhi became out of circumstance

And time and place, the being that he was,

 Which nothing can take away from or add to,

Beyond every thought since before he was born,

Gandhi Is… and shall be…”Always”.

And now the part of me that is Gandhi speaks:

 

I am the beginning and the end

I am all things and I am nothing

I am the source and he that drinks from it.

 

I am the truth and the good (not two)

I am the light and the way

I am the hopes and the dreams

I am the pain and the suffering…

 

I am spirit and I am flesh

I am humble and I am dignity

I am rights and I am justice

I am needs and I am equality

I am a servant yet I am free

I am lost yet I am found

I am a man yet I am the guru

I am Gandhi-jee…

 

Or rather, I would be…

  

 

                                                                                  Thomas Welborn 3-16-83 / 1:40 a.m.

                                                                                                         After seeing the movie, ‘Gandhi’ the night of 3-15-83


 

 

Chaos Transformed

 Can it be expressed in words?

Immeasurable wind, the slightest breeze

The smallest nudge, the lightest melody

One bit out of place among billions

Will change the entire future of the universe

One, of infinite diversity, joined together

By fantastic unimaginable creative spirit

Endless sensitivity to all creation

Connected in the body of Yahweh/Brahma

By bond with one man, named Abraham

By sacrifice of one man, transfigured

Crucified, and resurrected, for us all

What wonder how that heart once beat?

To open the door to a way out of chaos

How his touch, his word alone, healed

                                                                                                                        And brought light where before was only darkness.

 

05-05-92                                                

 

 

 

 

©1983-2007 Thomas Theodore Welborn

 

 

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