No advent poem today as it is the weekend, but instead here is a piece freshly forged off the back of another sleepless night last week. I may include this in the poems later in the week, but this is it in all it's entirely derivative glory, with the first verse pilfering from Christina Georgina Rossetti and the last line from St. John of the Cross. Well if you are going to copy, copy from the best!
Middle of the night, midwinter
As bleak as any I’ve known
With no snow on snow
To cover the decay underfoot.
Awake awaiting the dawn
Enfolded in the echoing dark
The cold silence pregnant
With potential, blessing, piercing.
But the archangel is absent
No heavenly harbinger
Of unusual good news
or peace in place of fear.
So I am left in the darkness
Uncomprehending, unhearing
God’s voice, unless
His language is silence.
Shalom
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