Sojourner

Oh, to mourn the death of promise!

And I, adorned with disbelief,

(tearing sackcloth, bathing in ashes)

petition my relief.

In my dismay, You wash my face

“Put this tattered frame to rest.”

and crush the sullen monument

that stood inside this chest

Scattered stones, surrendered searches

I therein do rejoice,

yea, and will rejoice

.

So sever sinews stretching still

between two resting hearts—

these rumple muddled vines shall not

grow where life has stopped.

Yea, did I see you waving wildly—

confident, like Christmas tree worms would be—

before breaking your crown, and blindly

hastening your retreat.

I waited, though…

you never did return

.

So let these tissue thickened letters

draped in memor’m on our skin

be cast aside, nay melted down

as new life enters in.

.

When great eyes open,

then shall we be

down and back to ore.

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