The desert is crunched by heavy vehicle and the mountain moved to the sea a highway made, waxing lyrical a journey from manger to hanging tree we tell your story, with peculiar flair your people formed with cries as we submit from dust to gold to he who is just and wise
I have been waiting for my worry to turn to confidence and anxiety to be whisked into intrepid tenacity but all I found at the bottom of the bowl was hope
A Hole to Hold Words
There is a gap where a voice should be A hole to hold words never heard A space where you should speak but you do not speak—we stare it down the silence of the heavens lip-closed, key turned, choosing to not say what they could say to alleviate our pain it is better this well we tell ourselves white lies—or sharp truths, telling the difference is the trick we have not learned. Can we before we reach the land of the living of the ever-giving? Of the streams, of the wine and the breadfruit, of the trees pregnant with promise, flowers budding for spring. Is this a voice? Or is it a silence? May we learn your way.
Image Credits: Gemma Evans, Ryan Cheng, Maria Teneva, Luca Baggio on Unsplash