How soon morning child energy subsides!
Sobs for natives’ stories halts spirit dance;
refugee reports lock down poem flow gates
with blame shame grudge sludge and guilt silt buildups.
I can’t write my way out of pity pit
or work my way into Your healing light.
Fear isolates; spite keeps me counting wrongs;
pride makes excuses, inflates my efforts.
Every night the bubble breaks. I give up
trying to impress or even express
this immense sadness. Exhausted, I fall
down into Your wondrous embrace of sleep.
There, there You assure my heart all is well.
Then, then I am relieved, resting, trusting
Your welcome to kindred spirit dreamland
where Your humble children breathe contentment.
We wake in Your dance company, moving
gracefully from grief to gladness, grateful
for Your all-encompassing compassion,
eager for close child encounter chances.