Prison On Sunday


She helped me find God,
Bring God so much closer
By breaking my heart,
For no one else can help me now.

Have you ever been there?
Way down deep where the light is gone?
Where the weight of sorrow
Presses hard against the chest,
Makes it hard to breathe?

Food is so unappetizing,
Sleep is so impossible.
Have you ever been there?
Who do you talk to?

God is the one you talk to,
Confess to,
Ask for peace,
Just a little peace from pain,
A small patch of sunshine.

It feels like prison tonight,
This absence,
Knowing the sweetness of her soul,
Knowing all the mistakes I cannot take back.

Perhaps I’ll wake up some morning and once again see,
See!
That even in my deepest sorrow,
I am blessed,
After a few extended conversations
With the only one I can talk to now,
The only one.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Epidemic


Addicted,
So easily,
So quickly to myriad petty attractions
Beckoning from these now ubiquitous devices,
Clutched so feverishly in hand,
Transfusing.

We are entranced,
Enchained as any needle-injected addict,
Beyond choice.

What hidden addictions were ever so omnipresent
Before this age of technological obsession?
Are we uniquely infected?

Is this new epidemic an interruption,
Or a harbinger?


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

The White Deer


After years in the forest,
Walking through the woods,
One snowy morning
A white deer,
So rarely seen,
Never seen by me,
A ghost in the clearing,
Not haunting,
A messenger,
A vision of my innocence
Before I lost faith with this world,
When the future was infinite,
When all things were possible.

There,
In the forest,
A motionless visage in the snowy woods,
A white deer,
Its penetrating gaze piercing my soul,
A ghost sent to remind me,
Telling me,
It’s not too late,
Never too late for reclamation.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Time Keeper


I am the one who turns back time
This chilly gray morning
While wife and children slumber
In the hibernation of Sunday.

I sneak like a tooth fairy
From room to room,
Setting back clocks,
Slipping another hour of sleep
Silently under their pillows,
Hastening the darkening of a season
Already too dark for my timeless soul.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved