Saturday, December 1, 2012

Hope


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Standing on the edge of darkness
so deeply hushed with quiet through and through
I can feel the surrounding
the holy rushing, silent
whispers of spirit smoke
trailing

It is upon me
this swelling hope
grafting my detachment
to its pulsing
center
for it believes

This hope
it rolled in atop 
the mighty words of prophets
springing forth day from night
life from death
Rejoicing

And here it is now
billowing on the edges
of my coming
and 
going
reaching for my hand
with wonder
and blessing
both

The silence
it is upon my lips
while my mortal skin
trembles
I must keep awake
for
He
is
coming

 Sweet Blogger Grey

Joining
and
in sweetening the world with poetry words.


8 comments:

  1. I especially like the shape of the end of the poem. The narrowing into silence that waiting can bring. Until, yes, we are hushed with quiet through and through

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  2. Grafting my detachment / to its pulsing / center

    Love the poem, Holly. (And, that's actually one of my favorite WC images.)

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  3. Yes. That is it. Thank you for adding your voice here.

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  4. Thank you, Lyla. And, yes, the image was perfect.

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  5. Holly, the heart of this poem just beats beauty and the way it walks out and sits, legs crossed peaceful and then just breathes content in the still in the expectant waiting. You make beautiful art.

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  6. I am trying to make this the prayer of my heart for the whole season. Join me?

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  7. This was beautiful prose to complement my morning cuppa tea . . . "for He is coming", had me undone. Glory. Holly, I wish I could spend a lifetime of days being your neighbor.

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  8. Thank you, Erika. And, yes, His coming is upon us. And to be your neighbor? That would be divine.

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