monsters

it is monstrous—

the indignities we impose

upon each other.

we have so many tools

we can use to bruise

the soul; the instrument

of our destruction

is our indifference.

the headlines

tell us of bombings

and shootings

but it is the way

we ignore the pain

that marks us

beneath the skin.

there are so many ways

to use your hands;

choose wisely

which seeds you plant,

how deeply you dig,

what you cultivate.

we wait once more

they said there would be joy

everyone is full of stories to share

there were celebrations and everyone was invited

we shared meals together

we sang all the songs that mattered

we spoke of all the promises

as if we understood them

as if they were a mystery

they said he would come back soon

we continue to watch the skies

we wait still

they said there would be joy

everyone is sitting in silence

we have covered all the windows

someone mentions sackcloth and ashes

they talk of resurrection

wonder what it all means

afraid to believe

they hold their breath     and wait

if we wait long enough

all will be revealed

we wait

they said there would be joy

everyone at the gathering is wearing black

so we wait

we wait in silence

we turn off the lights

we listen to the pain

then we join each other

in a song     we tell the story

as if it were true

as if every tear will be wiped away

getting older

so many broken

bones     so many

bumps and bruises

so many twists

and strains across

the body     a history

of striving     forward

motion interrupted

how far one travels

measured by intention

what one dares

each endeavour

a promise

the gift of work

the discipline

of desire     wrapping

hands around you

each tool

full of potential

each task

a seed     each

completion a gift

i keep getting

older     i still feel

young     it is both

true and not true

perception thin

like onion skin