Upon a lonely beach of hard sand
Light fading with the ebbing tide
I stood within its scalloped edges
Felt the sea-surge pull and push me
In gathering cold I felt the in-light
Knew within me the waiting depths
To the sea I turned and to all within
it
Quickly finding there a sweet release
A stick of driftwood, bleached, bare
Held tight in my hand but light as air
Could such a pen as this, write here?
Write what I was being shown here?
Six lines of what I knew not formed
A swirling pattern I drew upon the sand
‘This
is you, my child, and here your hurts
‘This
is what I see of you from inside’
A cry, a single sob, a breaking voice
Before a sea-surge swept it all away
No trace, no line of pain was left me
Nothing there but retreating sea-lace
‘Write
again, my dove, my only one,
‘Let
me show you what I see is there’
By some strange magic I drew again
A pattern of living shapes, and joy!
‘Gentle-kindness,
patient-trust, and love:
‘Courage
has given birth!
‘Here,
what hurt has worked within you!’
I saw my hurts were all transformed
*
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