Rusted Filigrees

 

It will not be

said of me that

“I staggered not”

at the promises of

faith, rather that “my

hand held the sword.”

I’ve altered and swayed,

plummeted in despair

and hoped to hope. Yet I

held focus in all the

shifting on that

which changes not.

 

I’ve lingered much

on rusted filigrees

and the crushed

fragments

of carved columns.

Finding beauty

in every place is

a gift that shouldn’t

slow you down.

 

But the deep tracks

that I leave — will they

be at the stove top or glued

to a computer, in front

of a mirror, or

buckled into a jet seat

flying over the sea or

counting the petals

of a velvet pink rose?

 

The widow and orphan,

the blind and starved are

the royalty of earth. Linger

long on these.

Leave oil for their scars

and buckets of living water

for thirst, baskets

of bread, and packets

of seeds for

tomorrow’s planting.

 

©Bonnie Saul Wilks

May 24, 2014