Staring into the blackness, thoughts extinguish themselves,

              as embers to charcoal, invisible in the dark.

A soul prays the prayer of no words, pleading for signs,

              throwing out daily turbulence.

 

Out of the darkness, shapes emerge,

                first unrecognizable, then taking form.

Distractions, sins, temptations, possessions, desires, things of no import, golden calves,

                 all gathered up and gently carried to His door.

 

Returned goods welcomed with forgiveness and love,

                   and more journeys are made, back into dazzling darkness,

Searching for it which must be returned, each trip a little lighter,

                   in order to drink from the Chalice of peace and love again;

And to rest In Him.

 

 

 

Copyright 2013 Michael J. Cunningham