"We are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike." ~Maya Angelou

Friday, February 5, 2016

Poem: The Gift

A winter's storm, night,
Crouched in the open plain,
wind howling around me, sleet-stung,
every limb aching from effort given,
the goal so far out of sight
as to be in doubt;
I cried out to you,
'please, a word.

Tell me again why
I should stand and walk on,
why again I should seek the child
in this blinding storm,
surely she is already lost.'

Upon the silent earth I
lay, weary....empty, invisible,
retreating into the depths.
I waited in the wailing,
pale blue with despair.

Please, a word.

Finally, there came the
warmth of encircling arms,
a familiar heartbeat; respite,
breath, comfort and courage,
bringing me once more to
the mortal task.

She yet lives, you whispered,
Find her and see her to safety.
Though there be many walking,
your specific gifts are required.

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