Poetry

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A call, a whisper,
The window rattles,
Swaying branches motion to come.
I am reluctant.
For the sky is dark,
and rain is pelting the fresh cut grass.

A call, a whisper,
An orchestra of storm,
Drums beating in Holy rhythm.
I am uneasy.
The white cane rocker,
Shifts in the whirling wind.

A call, a whisper,
Clouds bruised with burden,
Healing Light behind its veil.
I am weary.
Gusts snatch my breath,
Mist clings to chilled lips.

A call, a whisper,
Glory streaks the skies,
Startled senses hide their face.
I am desperate.
Thirst stirs a bitter soul,
Fear quakes a troubled heart.

A call, a whisper,
Brown Thrashers silent,
Swaying branches motion to come.
I AM in the midst.
Where the sky is dark,
and rain is pelting the fresh cut grass.

A call, a whisper,
Tears mingle with spray,
Sodden clothing grip my legs.
I AM reaches out.
Eyes speak of safe harbor,
Of ancient promises unwavering.

A call, a whisper,
I falter – He comes,
His hand clasped within mine.
I AM by my side.
Peace soothes a bitter soul,
Peace calms a troubled heart.

A call, a whisper,
Hands rise to receive,
Love’s parting rays of Hope.
I AM – always IS …
In the whisper of His name,
In the call of my heart.














Pat Guy
©2006
[email protected]

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