By GJ Gillespie
and marred to bust
Our forehead blackened still
We wander through the misty fields
where trucks and tractors rust
With one hand sore
and one hand torn
Our hearts and liver trust
To reach the promised pasture
of apples and alfalfa
Charcoal black
Sweet wine in a cup
Water sprinkled too
We take a single blossom now
To cast in remembrance
Reclining on a wooden box
A figurine gleams of brass
And speaks of lofty dreams
Where breakers roar on fairer shores
Beyond these hill top horizons
Like tight rope walkers balance
Or kite flyers tug at cords
We line up to receive a prayer
As children kiss a babe
Or old women forget
We find the world is vanishing
Like sun light evaporates frost
Leaving behind a hollow space
Big enough for suffering
But small enough for peace
No comments:
Post a Comment