Sorry for the silence, its been a long cold winter.
Now I find it's the season for poetry.
In Statu Viae
Springtime;
Early frost, worries the heart,
Bites the new blossoms in the bud.
United and apart,
Within and without,
The river, our sister, is crying in the mud,
The perpetual struggle of her sorrowful soul;
The whole world groans to be free.
And I too am not evergreen;
I cannot shrug winter's sting,
My soul, tired, ceases to sing,
Wandering afraid through the tyrant night,
And the cold days of dirty light,
The wind my only comfort.
The whole world moans, thirsting so long to die
And rise;
Trees clicking their fingers in the wind,
Dry old bones.
And the darkness creeps in.
The silence, the awful solitude,
Alone! Alone! even in the magnitude,
And listening for anyone there?
Oh Lord, it is so dark here!
I cannot see! I cannot see!
My Jesus, I trust in Thee.
And you come,
Simplicity, framed by rays more sublime
than the sunrise, sunset, and the gentle night sky.
Too beautiful
The eye is blinded,
But the heart turns and smiles
Gazing at the eternal Springtime.
