Rehearsal

A grassy, steep slope helps me exercise
not just my muscles but my soul as well,
for I imagine You, unseen by eyes,
as if you pulled me up from death and hell.
The bottom of the hill becomes the grave
from which You pull me by my outstretched hand,
while I am grateful for the life You gave
to me while climbing up the steep-sloped land.
Then I go down and go back up again,
repeating this each time with new emotion,
rehearsing for the future moment, when,
I pray, that You will pull me into motion.
Imagination will, I hope, turn real.
Till then, I can rehearse how it would feel.

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Mario A. Pita

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Deepening Faith

Like one submerged sees through a periscope
the land and sky that lie above the waves,
I had a vision that has given hope
that there is life for us beyond our graves.
I have believed since I have faintly seen
the heavens shine above the murky depth
where we are now as in a submarine,
subject to the whims of time and death.
But in the depths where periscopes can’t reach
the surface to give us a higher view,
I sometimes lose my faith that there’s a beach
and question whether what I glimpsed is true.
Immersed within an undulating sea,
I hope there’s land and sky that I can’t see.

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Mario A. Pita

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Listeners

The mockingbird that sings before the dawn
is unaware I am his audience
as he pours out his tune above the lawn
while perched upon a tree or else a fence.
Although he sings to say the place is his,
or possibly for summoning a mate,
I don’t care much for what his purpose is
and simply love the song that he has made.
His song served something he did not intend:
to bring delight to whom he could not see,
as, hopefully, the songs that I have penned
will please some beings invisible to me:
I hope that angels will enjoy my words
like I delight in songs of mockingbirds.

December Nocturne

Mario A. Pita

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Sparrow Conversation

A bunch of sparrows chatting in a shrub
fell silent as you walked with your dog by,
as if the chit-chat in their gossip hub
were secret, and you maybe were a spy.
When you had passed, their lively talk resumed
as though they knew you couldn’t overhear
the confidential morsels they consumed
because your dog and you were now not near.
But little did they know that though you heard,
you couldn’t understand what they had said,
as you don’t speak the language of a bird,
so you can switch from yours to theirs instead.
The birds don’t know what they don’t know, and you
can’t understand a lot – like their words – too.

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Mario A. Pita

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Shadowboxing

Your shadow popped in front of you one night
and startled you as though it were a threat,
a robber with whom which you’d have to fight,
but they turned out to be a silhouette.
And then you thought that it would be absurd
and crazy to engage a passing shade,
yet in your head that’s just what has occurred:
you’ve wrestled shadows out of thinking made.
You know now you should let those shadows pass,
aware they’re nothing that should be engaged,
as then they may just blow away like gas,
not needing to be battled with or caged.
Your shadow that you saw one evening taught
you needn’t wrestle shadows in your thought.

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Mario A. Pita

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Brokenness

While looking at a broken floral pot,
I wondered whether I should throw it out
to give the flower seeds that I had bought
a fresh, unbroken place for them to sprout.
Yet I decided that despite some cracks,
some shattered pieces missing from the side,
the pot would do just fine with all its lacks,
and this for me was easy to decide,
because I felt that I am broken too
yet sometimes something good can come from me,
so I preferred it more than one that’s new,
for it exemplified how I can be.
I hope in what I’ve done or what I’ve spoken
some good has bloomed despite my being broken.

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Mario A. Pita

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Deities

You don’t believe that atheists exist
for though some say they don’t believe in God,
you know that all, despite what they insist,
revere some deity, though that sounds odd:
for some the god is comfort, money, fun,
some others bow to service or to work,
some worship smorgasbords, not only one,
or simply being good, or not a jerk.
But you know worldly gods like this are small,
compared to one transcendent, infinite,
creator and container of it all,
beyond the universe and yet in it.
Your faith may break since worldly faith is brittle
but it returns because Your God’s not little.

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Mario A. Pita

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