[poem] untitled

6:14:00 AM



Upon the breach —
the crossing’s onset is signaled by ripples in the firmament
where the tears — the water of the life — begins
to flow.

There is silent weeping, waves of heaving;
way over there and enormous.
Then a pleasing warmth washes over the hurt that the fear for death’s closeness upon the afflicted heart had passed, my dear friends.


The balm surges out.
The breach, continues to unfold now pulsing with knowing that it,
the heart,
will soon be ready to put this part of its reason for beating
to a lasting sleep … to end the sufferings,
but for a moment of relief … reprieve at last,Horatio, my dear friend.
Were it not for The Love of a Mother
on which nothing more need qualify it

it: this short reprieve from being unborn.

O! and you, too, Atula! … For you whom they scorn at every turn!

All this is not for your glory, but for His — whose providence is fulfilled and felt when the capacity for His creation to abide in joy and love is in and through its knowing of the depth of its sadness

its despair

its …

it is forsakenness.

When the surrender nears, it closes over, engulfing, a life that was
nurtured and cared for and which endured
even through this Valley of the Shadow of Death,
folding over and collapsing in upon itself for union — re-union —
an illusion
worthy of laughter and love which had been His intended passion for his children and
for you to behold in all of this
since  since  since
the very beginning.

In the breach, the heart becomes acquainted again with its true nature as capable of being eternally vulnerable
in the light of,
in light of the lasting,
light of
cherished memories.

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