23rd.
I am not a sheep.
I do not feel the prod
And poke of rod and staff.
I do not have the need
To graze
Or lie down
By still waters,
Not right now.
But the valley,
The shadows,
The steep precipices,
The possibility of falling.
My feet are unsure.
I do not bah and bleat
My despair.
It lingers silently
In the pit
Of lost-ness.
My rescue slow.
So, I remain here
On the edge,
In this dark place
Knowing a table waits,
And a cup
Runs over –
Surely.
Love the poem!
I found this poem very thought-provoking. Many thanks.
What a powerful poem; it touches me deeply and I will be returning to it often.
Liz, in your words “So, I remain here On the edge, In this dark place” I have felt summoned to go over the list of troubling situations that I carry around in my head these days: the war in Ukraine, the ecological crisis including climate change, the ongoing pandemic, the huge economic disparities in the world, the developing famine in Somalia…and I know I’ve been looking for signs of hope. I’m still searching.