Vision of the Ancients – A Poem

I see mothers of the ages, of all cultures, of all times, carrying torches,
lighting the darkness, soothing the future
with hummed lullabies.

They carve their way in beautiful strength
with faith and song, waiting….watching….warding…waiting…
staying the course with never-ending grace.

Stalwarts of elegance, extend your hands, don your mantles and dance.

Oh how God’s heart opens for mothers!
How tenderly he wipes their brows and lifts their faces–

cradling weariness in his well-worn presence, sweet rocking back and forth

along the curving river’s edge.

Revel in the favor you were born for,

dear mother, sweet dignity,
take your place, wait and see.

Keep walking, your song is growing,
not fading like some would say.
Carve the silence with your love and light.

Rise again, be healed, empowered.

 

You,

like soft silk
sliding down from
skin exposed,
unfurl your holy breath,

lift each earnest desire.

You’re a glory to behold
when your bruises come unbound.