Of Loss

May 2011

  Once I had a glossy dream
Thrust high in the clear blue sky.
It trespassed, though, in a holy place;
Was thrown to earth, and died. 

  

Picking, plucking, plinking through

its shards that drew red blood;
drops mixing with the blacken’d earth
forming an angry mud.

I am the builder of my dreams.

 But the shards grew sharper still
For rancid dirt I could not forge
Into dreams that couldn’t be killed.

I cursed the earth that buried dreams;

My hand against His,
With shards embedded in my palms,
And white-flecked scars in His.

 I would not part with my dead dreams;

I could not leave them there,
Entombed to earth in wormy clods:
I mourned transfixed; heart bared. 

He waited long and hard for me

To turn from His bleak prey,
To unclench my earth-filled frightened fists,
And leave the burial fray. 
 

My chin at last I lifted

Up from the gaze of earth
As Hope drew close and unfurled my fists
To be filled with dreams rebirthed.
 

So restored I walk again

Freed, and freer still
From the death of loving my own wants
Because He died upon a hill.