What purity is rendered from the wreckage of these days?
Hearts torn asunder and splayed across a dying world;
A world that falls like dreams do
When the light hits hard across the room.
And I want to hold something heavy and cold,
Like the smooth stones at the base of the current’s flow,
But I am grasping air
And my breath weaves a river that dissipates
Like the memory of snow
Across the western peaks
Before the harsh rays of late spring
Melt these sculpted constructs down to nothing but
Granite and bone,
And the scintillating potential of the soul,
Like a wound that festers,
Or is rendered,
Into something mercilessly scarred
But somehow, more beautiful,
In the breaking, there is death,
And I question whether that is all there is.
Sometimes, the breaking never ends and all I see is a failure to save her. The darkness claims her over and over again in my mind and
There is the sharp absence of a savior,
Anywhere, here on earth,
And it certainly wasn’t me.
So, is that what this life will be?
Or can we render light from the wreckage of these days,
If we were to drop down and crawl on bended knees
To some higher place
Where there is redemption in defeat
And a new life
Fresh and green
Sprouting from the remnants of our own humility
In which we must now anchor
I don't want people to break and die. I didn't want to lose my mom and not in the way that we did. I'm sorry for all of this suffering. It seems, sometimes, that we will be broken of our arrogance one way or another, even the arrogance that we have some kind of right to live. And I wonder if there will be something better born or rendered in humility, or if there is nothing at all.