I cannot tear it all down,
rip out the broken heart of it,
and be done with it.
I cannot stop the death whisperer
from calling your names,
or stop the cold melt of sadness
from its gentle falling
into the grave of sorrows.
I cannot shout it down,
force back the gathering darkness
that drowns out each quivering light.
Carelessly, I stumble now with age,
I’ve watched too many lights dimly fade,
felt the particles of anguish and
waves of grief subside into resignation.
I’ve crept under the shadow of prayer,
sought the divine presence,
rested on the warm breast of faith,
until my stuttering tears faltered,
and all hope grew cold.
I continue to linger in desperate waiting
for the waters to part ways,
and clear for me a pathway to promise.
