The History of Our Salvation

He speaks of darkness,

of a night untouched by celestial wanderers

with no moon to reach down

with loving tendrils

and speak peace.

 

I know this valley of shadows,

I walked it as he did,

yet I held with me a dying spark.

All but suffocated,

it finally touched my guarded heart

and roared into being

love.

 

The same spark nearly missed him.

 

He dangled his life on a razor edge,

already drowning in despair,

and yet

hope sprung

from the same flame,

burning on the same majestic mountaintop.

 

Yet beneath our feet the fragile ice broke,

unsupported,

for the rock had long worn thin from misuse.

Cast aside,

clinging with bleeding fingers

to angry jaws and turned backs,

we fell once again.

 

Ashamed,

he nearly let the fire fall.

I clutched the flame ever closer,

but a new flame took my eyes,

and with fiery hate

I scorched the mountain with my guttural breath

and watched it crumble.

 

So I climbed a new peak,

and as I climbed,

my fellow travelers put out

the destructive fire that ate me alive

and restored the sweet embers remaining

from true love,

while he lay in the snowy foothills

alone again.

 

I waited for him.

And when he came,

he told his story.

 

In that dark room,

where our hearts found the flames again,

our tears fell as one,

and our hearts broke together.

When we held one another,

no word was sufficient.

Nor was it needed.

 

In that place,

where the gates of hearts flung open

to the shattering of glass masks

on reality’s pavement,

hearts broke

not in grief,

but in breathless relief.

 

From the release of darkness

was born the window

which let in The Eternal Flame.

 

 

 

Posted on January 29, 2013, in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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