Thursday, April 11, 2013


Few are the days
that are feast or famine,
shine or shadow,
black dark or white light

Few are the days
draped in mourning
or soaked in rejoicing
from sun rise to set

Plenty are the days
filled with mud and manna,
mess and glory

Plenty are the days
cemented in pain
and cracked open by joy

By the lacing of love
into the beautiful ordinary
with arms thrown up
and hands fallen open

Overwhelmed by doubt,
overcome with confirmation,
splashed in wonder

As a million little moments
hard and holy,
mundane and miraculous,
bleed into time

To the faint humming
from Another World
where forever are the days