Saturday, April 3, 2010

Good Friday, Still

image from wikimedia commons

So much is made
of the letting go
and the holding on
is dismissed
as dysfunctional
there comes a time
when to Love
is to hold on
to the splintering Wood
with all your might
and to bow down
and embrace
the wounding night


  1. Wow. This is powerful and struck home and my heart. xoxo

  2. I love this.

  3. Gorgeous. We've had two teenage deaths in the past two days--spring break and alcohol. It's difficult not to imagine their parents on such a lovely and meaningful day and wonder how they will live with this sadness. This poem helps.

  4. Annie, thanks. You have a great heart, so I consider your comment to be a great compliment.

    thelaughinghousewife, Thanks so much!

    distracted-I'm so sorry to hear about your losses. I'm grateful you feel that the poem helps.

  5. Fitting extra poems between the NaPoWriMo challenge is impressive enough without them being this good!

  6. Ah, but the splinters are such a reminder of the futility of a grip . . .

  7. ds- :0)

    Derrick- Thanks. I had this one percolating all week.

    Tina- Maybe the grip is futile, but sometimes necessary?