An open hand and wit enough to grasp
the punctured palm and hold on tight,
like seas that cannot leave the shore but rasp
its cheeks and shrug at every blow and slight
the weather throws in shards upon their waves:
if you were offered such a hand as gift,
leant down from that great chariot that saves,
would you be brave enough to let him lift
you from the slough in which you agonize,
or would you turn away towards the dark,
towards the fondled dreams and tattered lies
that are your goal, your target and your mark?
He waits, his arm outstretched towards you now,
his horses neighing, restless for your yes.
It’s none but love that’s offered like a vow
not raised in accusation but to bless.
Photo by JOHN TOWNER on Unsplash
Oh so rich in music and vision. Ya can’t tell the dancer from the dance. Thank ye.
But what are you doing in this forsaken terror movie?
Thank you, Jack!
What am I doing here? That’s a good question. It’s complicated…