Sunday, December 22, 2013

We waiting-wounded drop our heads and moan - a poem

tied to weight of living
sink beneath the darkest waters
wrapped in ties of ancient history
gaping mystery of knowing
we waiting-wounded
drop our heads and moan
within the long-swept shadows
where starving wolves pursue
and ropes too long
yet stretched to breaking
weapons loaded in the heart
below the liquid-table ends

we watch distant horizons
for a reason yet to stay
and live a daylight longer
as the murky, clouding thought
sweeps amid the lurk of shaking
on the edge of what is not
that hope we wish
beyond this present
letters to departed solace
they do not answer our last call
lines too busy every moment
and next to us
the weary drown in desperation
still blinded as they fall

arises in the vision;
by the giving sparks flare bright
as our hands reach to the anguished
be the answer in the shadows
mystery of dark made light
we are the ones that walk in darkness
and now the eyes who hold the sight
our stories form the fragile healers
we, weeping, wear the tearing burden
where tears trickle through the gaps
in woven fingers in the night
reach the pain-formed network wide
to catch all falling, fragile souls
we hold the waiting, gentle warmth
the knowing is our simple guide.


My thoughts after reading Faith in a Dark World over on Registered Runaway.