SOLACE

Darkness leans over the light
Until light is extinguished,
Leaving us to reach out
For some old philosophy,
Cobbled together
By really determined thinkers,
Looking to make sense
Of this situation of living
We find ourselves in.

What we long for is a fail-safe,
Easily learnt, easily practised
Way of keeping out the darkness.
Maybe a small avenue
Tucked away in a faded corner of our heart,
Lit by a single perfectly placed candle
Giving a faint but steady light of hope,
Because we could not cope
With anything brighter.

That would keep darkness
Outside the door,
Outside the window,
Easing the pain that would demolish us.

Of course, prayer is there,
Telling us what we already know.
That only love can turn the eternal around.
Only love bring light
To lean on the darkness
Until darkness is extinguished
And we can find a way through.

                 © 2021 Gwen Grant

We have a national park close to us which is a thing of beauty and
which contains such loveliness, you have to make yourself go home. 
The park is on old ground and standing on it, there is that eternal
feeling of all that has gone before and all that will come in the future. 
This park seems to include the sky as part of its sheer loveliness.   

 THE PROPHET AT MY ELBOW

Early Winter, and the geese are sailing
In a long straight line down the river,
Not knowing where they are going
But going, anyway,
Turning at the curve then coming back.
By their side, the wind is puffing up
Little drops of sunny water.

And as if the prophet was standing by me,
I became aware of the immense blue vault of the heavens.
Through the light of day, saw the hidden night,
With one star blazing brighter than all the others.

My feet were firm on solid ground,
Yet beneath them, I saw mountains biding their time,
Deserts flowering, and lights of cities not yet built all shining,
And the prophet, standing at my elbow, whispered,
‘Here is loveliness beyond all telling.’

Mid-winter, and the geese are sailing
In a long straight line down the river.
Their angry little eyes a snapping song of reluctant praise
To the love that made them.
And the prophet, standing at my elbow, whispered
Of the steadfast love and hope that lives in all creation.

                                                       © 2018 Gwen Grant