I travel seul; we journey, wearied
Of Me, myself & I- not three
Ego hungers for His Presence
Butterfly in Pollened Lee . . .
We are sand, just drifting, sifted
We are flakes the wind will shake
Detached, these dry bones lying frozen
Pieced in ice above the lake
Songs without harmonic motion?
Barques on adolescent’s sea?
Joi de Vivre found in Being
Woe in we if all are me’s
We are snows sifting, drifting
Simple grains the waters rake
Death like lone bones yearning, lying,
Locked immobile ‘neath life’s lake
Traitorous, betrayed and traitor
Welcomed wounding, healing space
God’s attacking hoarded me-somes
Slain and raised in arms of Grace!
Child- I burrowed snows soft comfort
Youth –my toes the beach embraced
Grown, we travel, far, together
Love creates all kindred space.
Snowstorm beckons into calmness,
Cutting sand- smooth agates make!
Let my journey be Communion
Melt my ice and drink the lake!
“Woe in we if all are me’s” – what a line! Do keep writing, Rod!