In “Unrequited Love,” I speak to my reader as the voice and love of God, languishing unrequited, forsaken and totally outside of humanity’s vision. I address each reader directly, saying, “I want you to know and return to me.” I miss them and wait for each precious soul to return to me. Each day I wait to be a wonderful waiting witness to love, quietly wanting works. Real walks of people awfully tear away the flesh in which man lives love-poor lives. The invitation to join the “wonted lasting Jew” is to join the prayerful heavenly host.
by John Smyth
Quiet Peace rests waiting
With love that’s unabating
In the bosom of my heart.
With patient caress loving
I hold your secrets moving
So much you take apart.
Walk with me child
A pace that’s mild
And know my sweetness strong,
Surrender ways of waste impure
And obstacles you must endure,
Lift all within your sight,
Know my allotted place for you
Aﬂows with wonted lasting Jew
Of quiet eerie patient song
within all hearts I quit along.
Think long, God-like, knowing mercy lives
As gifts of sacrifice succeed to ripple down through time
And sorrows that would occur with wasted pain
Are never known and disappear in my eternal plan.
Why do you walk away from need,
So blind in so much greed?
Would the witness of my love be sacrifice
Enriching with all real thought without each man’s price.
Patient thought is all you need sadly save today
And all I’ve made will serve your will, wishing of my need
Before you of a man suffering to pray
If he only looked to find through you a way.
Inspired by the little ones, your longing ends in me,
A home for all who seek and find of patient destiny.
I am the way and truth in life and cross eternity,
I wait in painful joy, your waste of endless love untried was
self inspired ever. I wait in painful instants as you
persevere to witness
Waste of love and rippled future times amiss
Until your sad hearing at death
When all before you stands the life and love the world
dared offer faded as a dream
Because of selfish wants worsting needs I gave.
Wealth is death and death is wealth in tribunes on the other side
And none will see the redeemers slant on how it is in heaven
Where those thought high wear lists of who they thought
they were for jesting wasted.
Despite your blindness I see all and nothing misses me,
With feinted absent thinking is your proudful haste to death.
It ill-advised takes you where you neither know nor see,
‘tis pure abandonment of heart to heal the issued love
of times begotten long ago and times in future far.
copyright 2013 John Smyth