The World Wounds Us With Beauty

When Sun sets and dark comes early,
I walk outside to find the Source—
Now hidden, indistinguishable,
Lying still upon dark water of the lake.
Blackened Barlow Mountain haunts,
Stands upon horizon, outline veiled.

Whatever knowledge held in daylight hours
Now gone along with light.
Yet surely grace remains, burning alive.
Where is Stephen tonight?
Is he swirling among the stars?
Does he now float closer to God’s Love?

Here, it seems at best we live half-blind.
Tell me, friend…. Is it foolish or faith
When you pray and get no answer
And keep on praying from the heart?
Do you not yell at God in dreams
To leave you alone so you can sleep?

This morning there was an early frost,
Sparkling crystals gathered upon the grass—
I touched and burned my hand.
Blind to the fire inside the dew—
Forgot the lesson that the world
Wounds with beauty every day.


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