Such brutal gifts the heavens unveil,
to set an anvil on an egg, a hatchet in a feather;
the weight of glory on backs unprepared to bear it.
Such searing grace this love reveals,
to wear the clothing that burns, the garments of pain;
smoke and embers blend muscle, will and fiber of heart.
Such elusive things this story tells,
to plot a course where plot is lost, no stage is found;
winds of change or just the wind, no difference on this tale of tears.
Such dimpled love for ancient hands,
to push up, squeeze through, hold tight another’s feeble hand;
heaven stretches her saving arms for arms too short to hold.
Such tender truth this great one sings,
to tease a tone or two from iron souls, the fresh notes of morning;
sung secrets for earthen voices still too tender for songs.
4 thoughts on “Such brutal gifts”
That opening stanza is breathtaking dynamite! Nice one, Rob….
Thanks, Melody. I’m glad you think so since I’ve been having some poetic grief of late, kinda finding stuff as it were.
Meh. I hear you. How many old things can be said in a new way, after all? It just makes the words that live all the more special, for their novelty…
True enough. Thanks again.