In-between are worlds apart
Warped and rural, mural skies.
Crystal seas reflect the Glories,
Watchers winged with sapphire eyes.

Dive beneath the solid waves
Crust of earth that is not Earth
Fire rivers flowing where
Humankind does not give birth.

Closer still the atoms spin
Alone? or are they by Themselves?
Existential underpinnings
Underpinned by what? Themselves?

Matter sinks within our hands,
Reality has been replaced.
Starlight liquids squared by pi
Intertwining time and space.

Light is flying faster, faster
Till it seems it’s standing still.
Peace of Deity unveiled
Godspeed blinding you until

Scales are falling from your eyes
Know as you are fully known
Hear His Voice so still, so small
I am I AM. Be still, and know.

© 2005 Benjamin Wolaver

Maid Joan of Arc, compelled by God
To wield her sword and fight
And thus reclaim her country’s sod
From England’s ruthless might

Turn back the years to Domrémy town
The passion of her youth
Was loyalty to Charles’ crown
And love of God and truth

She mourns for France’s broken soul
And lives to heal their sin
This girl would live as righteous coal
Resisting Satan’s kin

In solitude she meditates
With fervent, pious awe
Her faith derides the lie of fate
Her will’s the will of God

Hear voices, visions, heaven’s cry
The holy cry of war
She’ll mount the steed, command the prize
Her country’s land restore

“She’s mad,” they mocked in pitious tones
“This strange young girl can’t lead
The men of France to overthrow
The siege of old Orleans.”

But soon she stood before her King
Whose crown was almost lost
And vowed to end the suffering
She bravely faced the cost

Ten thousand men courageously
Fought with the fearless maid
With God empowered sword and steed
They marched into the fray

Now Joan of Arc victorious
Returns from old Orleans
For France’s honor glorious
She stands beside her King

Let all of France again be free
Give sweat and blood and breath
She rode with God courageously
The English sought her death

By Burgundy, one dreadful day
This maid, so undefiled
Was sold to England’s deathly clay
And made to stand for trial

“A godless witch” the English courts
With poisoned hearts abused
We must destroy this wicked sort
Their hateful tongues accused

Her martyrdom emblazened
On the conscience of the crowd
“Let’s burn the witch,” their brutal song
With vengeance crowed aloud

Now smouldering in England’s haze
With cinders black and stark
The ashes of her charred remains
Brave martyr, Joan of Arc

Her ashes to the wind were tossed
And scattered o’er the Seine
Fearlessly she paid the cost
Of destiny divine

Uncowed, undaunted by the fray
She died of holy cause
Declared by men to be a saint
And glorified by God