Friday, 22 January 2016

Vol. 2. / 147.) The White Herons . . .




Up from the well of ‘Don’t Know’
Springs the Life which knows for me
If I should drink any deadly thing
It shall not harm me for it is turned

I buffet my body it shall not rule me
And I am helped to bear the truth
It does not help me for it is against me
Daily I bring it softly down to rise up

Nothing of me works any life in me
Life and truth is all not of my own self
I cry and the white herons cry and rise
They take up nothing from my mind

They know where I know not my self
And from there they take me with them
They walk in the sanctuary lifting my cry
I cannot for joy find fault with my pain

Wings dipped with love’s living things
There are no words where they fly
Gold on silver their light emerald eyes
Look through the veil see my heart cry

Turned they can ascend and descend
There is no ladder other than love
They hold the broken pieces of me
And loving bear my heart heavenward

They carry a vial filled with my tears
They bear it in ecstasy born of their love
Angel eyed they wait to serve and give life
No fear can harm where they are allowed

The world in its darkness sees not Light
Taken up I am turned I see the difference
Not of myself am I split asunder to see it
In this cleft is my heart born up to heaven




*



No comments:

Post a Comment