my heart is a burning wildfire of pain and conflict
a loud blare of frustration and alarm
a raging army of trumpets
marching against
their own breath, protesting
the vain efforts of their own harmony
building, calling, mocking, pounding, replaying
the horror of reckless heat and smoke
until at last they fizzle and fade
to a quiet ash heap
which is where you find my heart,
tracing your finger through its fragile powder
with a blessing, a scattering, a releasing to restorative peace
Reflecting on Ps 112: Happy (Fulfilled, restored) is the one who trusts, is just and generous; the adversaries and wicked are vanquished. But if I internalize these, I see this contest played out within, and your poetry gives it full expression. What the psalm does not make clear is the grace of the Spirit to restore and imbibe us with that new and right Spirit. Your poetry, as usual, evokes much. Blessings.