Monday, May 6, 2013
All the Angels
The abrasion of the places my heart has worn thin
are brittle and blackened by the denials
of simple movement every soul must make.
These places cry,
throaty and bereft of hope,
for soothing balm
to heal, begging to bring air and light,
and so I sob and wait.
I chant
and call to Jesus,
Mother,Father
Krishna, Buddha,
Quan Yin, Mary,
and all the angels
and saints
to touch me
with hands so very gentle
and carry me with prayers
to the companion
who knows how to walk beside
bowing so that I almost miss
the nod to the light that lives
in both of us
so that we might be whole again
like each moment we can step
together again.
throaty abrade session blacken
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