The Maker of the Night, I Know…

November 6, 2014

Suffer
The little children
To come

Unto
Me.

The Truth,
I Am,
The Truth
You know,
The Truth will
Set you free.

Those solace-words,
They echo,
Hard,
In my lonely head.
No thoughts keeping company
With those once-free
Now
Shackled,
Strangled,
Dead.

Morbid?
Perhaps
It’s a metaphor

Perhaps

It’s
Survival,
Pining

For that hope his friend spoke of
(That friend his hope spoke of).
Oscillations
Flicker,
Mining.

And here I remember
Whimsy,
A man
A’mourning,
With his one-legged dance.

He had a bad day
And had found a fair way
Into unraveling
A providential chance

Into something “useful,”
That with each pull

Risk retaliated
And the battle that ensued
Was over much more
Than the years he had waited
It was for the very
Love
That
Glued

All trust together-
That which held his tender hurt

Apart,

What bound his bleeding,
Bet-bought wound,
And healed his hopeless heart.

And there he began
To wonder at
The cost,
The loss,
And what’s to gain
From continuing?
More pain?

Maybe, yes
Maybe
But that,
Forever to remain?

Nay…

I will not believe it,
For this is not the way
The Maker of the night, I know,
Rewards those who obey.

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