Nothing but this single stone on which to stand
As I look out upon this dry and broken land
But clothed in nakedness, I feel nothing but the eyes on me
Nothing but the broken shards of the image we were created to be
The life you intended, abandonedness, beauty, love and trust
Have been taken captive by, drunkenness, hate, violence and lust
The waves that once lapped upon the distant shores
Are ripped and torn from memories of battle and wars
But what is this? Is this beauty in disguise?
This glimmer that appears in the distant skies
The moon, the stars, and the song they sing
The hope, the peace, the love you bring
Yet all who live are beaten and battered
The image we bear all but shattered
But what is that feature that sits in flight?
Its beating wings all painted white
What is this thing, this gentle bird?
Being chased by a barbaric hoard
Yet it continues to fly without any care
With all the land burned and bare
Except for one splintered tree
Broken and twisted into a simple T
The dove finds it the perfect place on which to sit
And right then something pulled the demonic bit
The dark hoard scattered and flew
For through the dove all was made new
What is this, this mended mirror?
And what is the image that reappears?
©2012 by Evan Bolton