the Kindred
A lonely walk through the cacophony of hollow voices
and i am seeking refuge
in the arms of the illusive.
still the familiar pain
that now seems a comfortable ache
intimate in the grasp of the nowhere no one
too tired to weep
too cold to mourn the graves of broken dreams
I want to look deeply in the eyes of a truth
"Oh fearful-one be still"
Carry me into the enfolding
touch, taste, sound
unbridled understanding
unabandoned, careless discovery
of something silent, still and good.
Is there such a place, Sweet Jesus?
Is hand-in-hand sweet rest a place my feet will take me?
The same moon that bore the birth of grace in tender Bethlehem,
that shone brightly above the storm of Calvary,
Now in this "My God, My God" forsaken love song
echoing through the crimson haze of bloodsweat praying.
Mother me, Oh God of lost things.
carry me home
beyond the wondering lost regions of my tears.
Flood my broken spirit
with your boundless fertile
garden of peace and rest.
amen.
mtullos@lifeway.com