Member-only story
Brittle bones bend, break
Prophetic promise, pull
Return to dust, fall.
Earth, mother, I hear you call,
God, father, keep your promise,
covenant with the ancestors.
Dust of mother’s womb, I emerged
to dust of father’s land, I will go.
Out of dirt, lift me, divine grave-robber,
like Lazarus, like Jesus,
if you are true to your word.
Hope, humanity hangs its hat on
faith, certainty of things unseen,
but yet experienced -
touch, taste, smell, read, sing.
In spite of living,
I reach out to touch eternity.
Tiptoes and fingertips
reach, reach
brittle bones, find strength
to reach.
