Grey

What if the dawn is grey
holding on to dying threads of darkness?
Alabaster beckons...
but first, we must know how to hold its worth.

Clouds transpose; lifting and boiling
not violently - they are pale
but changing nevertheless
some with great rapidity.

If we humans then, are momentary
one dare not miss the momentous occasion
to observe the sacred: translucent wisps in eternity.
Stand - still and reverent to acknowledge what God has done.

"God, you say. Where is He?"
He holds the clouds
sometimes covering what we cannot bear
(were never meant) to see.

"Peel back," He roars
Can you not fathom
the righteous bedrock
of my creation?

A gentle tutor:
"Beauty is kindred to peace...
My hope, will not disappoint...
Think on it."

Aaah, and much of the time, my friend
hope is pale, pale grey
It's time-hammered pewter a translucent pane
mercury glass between God and man. 

jfig   11/2020

This poem is dedicated to my cherished friend Donna, a gift-bearer of HOPE.

For more in-depth reflection, this poem draws from the following passages: Job 38-42; Philippians 4:8-9; Isaiah 5:12; and if you are feeling brave, Romans 5:5 and preceding.

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