There Are No Words
“There are no words…” with tragedy
Or times absurd or ends unknown
Is tragic in its own accord
For words may be all that we own
For words may be our covenant
The flag that waves above the fray
The whisper that our conscience hears
Our troth to pledge, to vow, to pray
The vow that never this again
Whatever “this” compels our swords
Our rage, our loss, our desperate wars
Against our own best selves, our words
As words come back to haunt and hurt
To tear or bind or cast away
Their power’s clear and undeterred
With words we’re swept into the fray
There are yet words that ring with hope
Those words that wake those better selves
Some words of truth beyond reproach
To save us from our earthly hells
So even as the words are choked
In throats that mourn or gasp in dread
The only time “There are no words....”
Should only be when good lies dead
Que Será – Mother’s Stare
Caught in a vortex of serenity, concern, joy, and exhaustion
Expression unfathomable
Chin resting on an arm
Eyes locked on her precious one
asleep for now,
maybe not for long
a gift
peace to be followed by not-peace
but sleeping in deep peace, for now
As she contemplates
a canvas yet to be filled
a journal with mostly blank pages
the opening bars of a lullaby...
Peace
not to be kept
but loosed on an unexpecting
world, though unexpected
treasured, dreamed
when free, freeing
uncoupling fear from uncertainty
ministering to fear’s wounds
tethered to hope by
hope's quiet voice
soft breath
still presence
unshakable if offered earnestly,
heartbreaking when love rebuked
and stillness only
keeps the peace