Unmerciful mercy

That is what I bring to the tables.                                                                

Laden with bread and wine.
I bring my tears to fall upon  baskets of fruit.  

Fruit bruised and broken and withered on the vine.

Falling upon the ground which is laced with ashes and Dust.

A Silver tree in winter,

a  rotten apple in fall,

a muddy puddle in summer,

an empty blossom in spring.

What can I give to this king?

This gent who has so mercifully forgiven me.

and yet I so unwillingly exhaust at this feet.

Afraid to wash.

Fear of splattering.

Of being seen.

I hide in the shadow of the grace of the dawn.

Unwilling to greet another encounter with joy.

Rather to extend  another hand of sorrow.

Heading nowhere.

The paths which lay before me I am unwilling to see.

Or do I see them?

If I look closely enough over the faint horizon, I see them appear.

A bit of a Glimmer.

A shine.

A quake upon the rising.
A new day has dawned.

New laughter.
New hope.

Oh blessed be the day when I can awaken with shouts of joy.

Not contemplation

Just a quick thought

And a quick awakening.

 Cleansing to the soul.

I will glean from Mother Earth.

I will refresh  my doorstep.

I shall welcome those who call upon the name and those who fear to tread.

I shall welcome those who don't, who won't.
The name which shall never be spoken, yet should always be spoken.

I shall shout from the rooftops.

I am here.

And I shall approach this season with gladness.
 Oh blessed be the day!