Light
flickers through our standing stones
That
are yet future
Till
they are there, broken of us:
Changed,
and made new, here.
Able
to filter the harsh light
That
would seem to threaten us
Our
stones, once raised to the wrong god
Become
our gifts
As
out from the awareness of our offence
We
draw life in leaving self-centered-ness behind:
And
our future becomes set
As
fair behind the un-clouding present
As
a crimson dawn slowly seeping out of night.
*
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