Terra Firma

twig-bench-lavendar

Down well-trodden trail
a chasm opens beneath
gazing down dreamily
the worlds of ancients meet
look down at all the hours and days
the rhymes, signs and verses
words and tokens exchanged
between us
The earth envelopes it
cast down to what lies beneath
all those endless numbered days
those staunch and bending ways
Now only soft firm ground lies
sighs gingerly between my feet
abundance of life groans
all around me
but yet I am still and quiet
longing for tomorrow once more

 

Featured image: Twig Bench by Alexia Wedding on Pinterest

Restoration

It’s the things that aren’t said that hurt the most.

I can hear the tower clock chime from my pillow

It is the only constant I hear.

But even this clock;

I envy the care and attention

it receives for its restoration.

I hope to have its constancy at heart.

Spiritus Sanctus:

‘O Holy Spirit, as the sun is full of light, the ocean full of water,

Heaven full of glory, so may my heart be full of thee.’

The Valley of Vision

Love from Frank

Where your heart lies

there your treasure lies too

Give that treasure to all around

without payment or compromise

silently waiting to share in another’s

heart.. listening for a beating or breath

only silence rings.

I run to double the beats in my ears

double the breath to push down my fears

that although surrounded I am alone

They form a ring around me

facing out, their backs do not reply

I fall to the ground, prostate

on the carpet that I laid, soft and new.

Sobbing echoes against these antique walls

as if occupied by many grieving widows

will my soul haunt here if I pour out my all?

I stare at the golden hue

bursting through the retro windows

let the golden rays kiss my face

and forever remember that He says to me

“I love you.”

I feel I have stepped back from a sharp precipice

as I gaze at the crisp perfect circumference

of the moon in full bloom

I casually stroll through the door

return the key to my sanctuary

‘It belongs to me, too’ I whisper.

The honey on my lips sublime

sears the sting of wind chapped sores

The only outward sign of pain

The rest I store inside, until next time.

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