Christmas approaches. Crushing, potentially quite dangerous. I celebrate Jesus every day of my life. But this day, chosen by us, well it now carries with it a horror I will not share with you because it is not a burden to be placed upon any soul. In the year 2010, Christmas took me to my knees and I lost my daughter into psychosis in a way that made it impossible for her to survive. I stumble, I crawl, I fear, I pray, I see it coming. I hold out my hand to you, my beloved. Pray for me. This is a poem from my new book of poetry, in its infancy, Letters to Father Bill Roses from Ashes You were born and you made it right. I stumbled among your ashes and awakened each day to what is impossible to endure. I see you, changed, I see you. Into my empty hand which I hold out every night in early morning hours, the hand of another holds me. Fist to fist we go into a hostile world, and we were born for one another. I look up and I see the glory. I look into his eyes and I see the glory. A man of God, my brother, without him I might be lost. Children pour out from school and I once stood among parents, waiting. Children fail and fall and are abandoned. Never, you. He bears me hand in hand into a future I would not have but for Grace. There was one day, one, and I chose life, not death. The summer flies, the winter plays its frozen notes, spring will come again won’t it? Won’t it? Above us the Universe rolls. I am on my knees. Walk with me, see what I see, feel what I feel and become me, as I am you. I can see Him in his glowing robes walking through fields where flowers sing. I can sit beside Him, not too close. He has taken your ashes and turned them to roses. https://youtube/watch?v=7jC93d_xoEY
Posted on: Mon, 22 Dec 2014 22:53:46 +0000
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