Faith is the substance of things hoped for,
the evidence of things unseen. – Hebrews 11:1
Except that hope just feels like
…..w a i t i n g
something from a silent sky,
my voice is the one un
crying out to indifferent
Hope is scars,
in hands and feet and side
and heart. Thorns where gold
should sit. The not-quite-right fit
of cloth. The wail of whip.
It’s that too-
bright sun busting up again,
thrusting up the day before
I’m ready. That obedient moon,
trusting fire for another night’s shine.
fine, and fleeting. Others, steeped
in sorrow, love and song. It’s be
-longing to something bigger,
when being smaller is stronger,
when empty hands mean a
that silence isn’t absence. That
salt is a season. That there’s always,
a reason to crack open,
PAD, day 24.
‘Thorns where gold
should sit.’…obedient moon,…smaller is stronger,
empty hands mean a
cup-overflowing soul….these are only a few of the moments that moved me to tears while reading. De, your poetry continues to bless and astound me:) thank-you for all you do!
Thank you so much, Janet. For continuing to read, and for your generous comment.
and “Oh,” again.
My heart is moved and cries out, “Yes! Oh, yes!”
Thank you. My goodness, thank you!
Wonderful wordsmithing, De! The hope and faith evident in this makes my heart 🎶