This morning’s
Back porch prayer
Is a sigh –
Not a sad sigh,
Or a happy sigh,
But a sigh sigh,
A wordless prayer to
The One Who Hears,
Agreeing to wait.
Perhaps, He suggests,
There is more joy here,
More sigh solace,
In dove woes and
Tin roof rain,
In sugared flow of life beneath
What you can see,
Than in the triumph of
Your hopes.
Perhaps you already have
What you are waiting for.
~
His gentleness owns me whole.
Mourning dove on a front porch,
Says with her eyes,
Her implacable, light-ringed eyes,
Yes, I made a mess
Building this nest.
But
The pangs were upon me, and
My nest-mess is the herald
Of Easter,
Of passion and pain.
In a corner of the cornice,
I hide my life,
Against the roaring of the foe,
Who stalks like a blight,
A darkness among dogwood,
A hatred complete.
This piercing is a deep breath
Inhaled for the victory shout.
I am the covering;
I will die for life.
~
The Pen of a Ready Writer 