In that essential stillness
that quiet endless hour...
preceding every dawn
of every day...
God breathes into the world of sleep
whatever power might be taken
to reach
that waking moment
in the warm falling rain of his grace...
In every year
whenever the wheel has turned
into the place where it must turn again
or stop
for want of hope
or lack of dreams...
God breathes once again
into the greater whole...
this soft malleable whiteness
this stone...
he blesses
this unformed essence of extraordinary love
not yet fashioned with object
or desire...
it awaits our cleansed and contrite heart
awaits our innocence returned
awaits our renewing hope and certain will
that we might approach closer to the mark...
We have fallen back
upon the dying leaves
upon the sidewalks of shouting cities
into the guttering run
where flows the secret mind of our hidden deeds
more times than we can
through mercy
recall....
Every breath
every morsel of food
every chance of redemption
every possibility of hope
rests upon the bleeding power
that has bought and paid for every coming minute of the age...
Every twisted ugly thing
Every kindness unseen
every gentle thought
every whip hand falling
or whatever we may have turned it to...
all paid for by the living vision
of the one who dies
who is crucified
in the simultaneous instant of every act....
everything is permitted and fed
that we might, through the gift
of this unspeakably great thing
come to see how we might be....
and the certain possibility of that
for everyone of us
no matter how dark the way
how far afield...
is the 'ceaseless' intent
of the one left bleeding....
what freedom is
what love is
what peace is
we have no clue
only the yearning
and the road that leads us there...
Many have filled this void with words
Many heroes come
and seeming villains to meet them in their time
all sleeping now
in places deep and waiting...
but this one does not sleep
Is born anew in every breath
shines from each shining eye
cannot and will not forget
carries us past the trouble and regret.
In tongues forgotten he has come
to every race
in every time
dressed as everyone
always unknown and alone
and waiting...
this immeasurable gift
unappreciated
not understood
remains...
lays on the common ground
is tossed aside as worthless
is unseen among the items in the cart
it feeds us
grants us life where there would be none...
endless granted, giving life...
full and safe and perfect
I do believe....
Saturday, March 22, 2008
I Do Believe (an Easter Poem)
Patrick Willis narrates:
(an Easter Poem)
Beamed from the Saucer Pod By Visible at 10:29
4 comments:
Your words speak to my soul. I doubt, yet my soul knows and brings word of hope; Believe.
beautiful....................
It all could have been so different if this was what was recited on Sunday mornings.
Nina
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