The sound of rain falling in the deep night is a reminder that every now and then the world needs washing. The dirty streets littered with our selfish striving and strewn with the harshest words, dropped casually during the day, need to be cleaned. Hopes forcibly squeezed out and dreams stolen wait to be washed into drains, longing to be recycled and fed back in sleep’s stories. Prayers of the ones no longer here descend to rattle against our walls and fences, some seep through gaps and splits to water shoots of memory. Fall night rain fall.
The noise changes,
amplifying the empty airwaves.
exposing stories the Sun failed to tell,
Tales hidden by the beating sounds of life.
The fingers of today relax and release,
Now liberated happenings float up into the deep,
Rising on earths cooling eddies.
Conversations had and hoped for,
Hard words reluctantly spoken,
Now regretted too late.
No more time to give to anxious possibility,
That moment faded with the light.
Now be still,
Hear the far away as it sings,
Hear the strange discordant silence,
Hear the night stretch its creaking frame,
Hear it quell cacophonous day,
And break the spell of busyness.
Watch as the weight of dark falls
and eyes can close.
There is no more,
No air for regrets left,
now is for sleep,
And for dream and for stillness,
Change is coming on the broken sky.
The pictures that I paint myself in the sleepless dark,
Keep building, resolving, repeating,
brush strokes finding one another,
Testing and reapplying,
with no light to shine upon the stretching surface.
No way to see the edges.
Or touch the gilded frame.
In the deep alone again,
stories twitch and nag for attention,
Poetry forming, shaping,
answering this days unmentionables,
Layering pregnant verses,
That in the seeping dawn deep drain.
The story’s happy ending gone,
A night of grappling angels,
Leaving only aches and waste,
Nothing but the bruises,
and the grief of certainty.
Another sleepless night,
Another dreaming black,
Another carried scar.
Tomorrow rest may come.
Through the night Jacob had to fight,
Eye to eye, arm to arm,
held, twisting, pulling, knees. elbows,
Muscles and joints tensed in the search for purchase,
Pressure building in desperation and frustration,
Why must we wrestle, how is that love?
But the fight will not end,
Where is mercy, where is peace?
No space, face to face,
Only hard eyes and harder fists,
Down on the solid earth,
In the dust and the dirt, stinging raw flesh,
Grinding bones and bedrock,
Forcing breath, and sweat and pain.
Day breaking, body breaking,
By the crooked river,
Bones are bent out of shape,
Scars born in love and hope,
Wounds exchanged for a name,
a blessing ripped from deepest injury.
With the rising sun a gift of pain that remains.
A reminder of the most intimate battle.
Not won or lost, just fought.
Waiting day pausing,
Breathe full before breaking in,
Draw deep foundations.
Flow winter’s deep night,
between the colour and dark,
rebirth and regret.
Sleep hangs and falls in struggle,
Until ice splits land from sky.