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
But
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

8 comments:

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

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  2. I love this.

    http://thelaughinghousewife.wordpress.com

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  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.

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  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.

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

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

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  7. ds- :0)

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

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

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