Building a Temple
These words are a goodbye
to the dust-bowl chaos, a vision
to act by, pick up pebbles and throw
across a field, over a fence, almost
to the other side.
The angels make a wall protecting, bending
their bodies of light like shields
over my children, as they find their way
through uncertainties, undercurrents of terror
and the moon’s dropping glare.
Addiction in the ice.
Organs enflamed and removed.
But God’s love is merciful, takes us
to the threshold, but not beyond.
Secrets are exposed, talked about without shame,
and then are burnt.
Sometimes the storm creates a treasure,
a blooming happiness
after its destructive force.
Sometimes after the emptiness, there is finally
a conscious letting go, letting in
the zig-zag flight of finches.
ghosts are silenced, pathways
are exposed, and hearts once harmed,
are now repaired, easily redeemed.
Copyright © 2022 by Allison Grayhurst
First published in “Synchronized Chaos” May 2022
You can listen to the poem by clicking below: