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
The same spark nearly missed him.
He dangled his life on a razor edge,
already drowning in despair,
from the same flame,
burning on the same majestic mountaintop.
Yet beneath our feet the fragile ice broke,
for the rock had long worn thin from misuse.
clinging with bleeding fingers
to angry jaws and turned backs,
we fell once again.
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
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,
not in grief,
but in breathless relief.
From the release of darkness
was born the window
which let in The Eternal Flame.