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.
Roasted Words 