It is work to pause
In the darkness,
To stay here waiting
While death takes its toll,
And the depths are plumbed
Silently,
Without protest.
I am a
Spectator, not a
Participant, in this clash,
Receiving all the spoil
And anticipating the
Coming moment
When the Heart of love
Will take its first victory beat.
And the stirring under the linen will
Signal mountains to sing and
Molecules to dance.
And the shroud will have been merely
The birth blanket,
The darkness only that of the secret places,
Pregnant with hope and glory.
The Pen of a Ready Writer 
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