speaking of haiku

balance lost have i
forward rush to habit old
this doing stop must

it's past ash wednesday.
comes the end of winter sleep.
february done.

november. the soul,
at rest, watches and awaits
at last, the advent

judging all, I wait.
like noah, I will be saved
come the flood. I know.

hate, smears, half-truths, lies,
fear of the wrath of rapture...
where is love?... of God?

yellow leaves, bright crisp morn,
hot mist rising from wood-chips
left by the parkway.

a humbling gray,
descends upon proud 'scrapers,
a ceiling of clouds.