from their unseeing eyes—
Their little frames have
no hearts to break
no wound to bleed like mine
My own grief pools red and hot,
or cools upon my cheek,
my waxen heart cannot feel
unless it is this emptiness—
My loneliness none dares to break
Candles burn bright and
candles burn low—
Grief and loneliness don't fill me
they hollow out my feeling,
stealing life, their appetites grow
What can fill grief and sorrow,
loneliness and death?
Their hunger growls and I diminish,
their ache digs deep
to ravage my every breath—
Breath! Spirit of God poured out
like melting wax—
Unlike water in the wilderness
the Spirit is not swallowed—
He fills and heals each crack
Cracks in my soul that run
deep and hungry ache,
He finds the bottom and
fills the deep wells
making a pool of Beauty—a lake
A lake of salty tears
that now reflects
the Light, the stars, the silver moon—
and bathes the travellers' weary feet,
a gift, a healing they did not expect.
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