seven::eight

It is at hand, the nursing, the Kingdom,

Mercy's lap is at hand.

Having grasped her hand you will go and speak.

Words have power and they have feet

and they hold the hand of the Kingdom,

hold the hand of Mercy.

So speak, and dream with graced thoughts,

the nourishing milk of a Mother's love.

She has given you a new birth,

a birth that continues to birth,

to then coddle tenderly

the transfigured virtuous children of the Spirit's wind and light.

Mark the truth on your body,

mark it with your body,

the mark of kindness

that leaves the scars of beauty,

the present sign of healing

in a land still dust.

With dust, speak, if you must

but it would be more becoming

to speak in silence,

in that tone of still calm.

Your friends may forget when you try to remember.

Think of them again as brothers and sisters.

And when their spurn grows like weeds,

be a grass providing shade,
muting their scorn to wild flowers.

The waters may be dried for a time of passage,

but their rushing life will flow once again

sending you the clouds you will need

to veil your words,

to speak only the verse of a new creation.

Rest now in the Kingdom.

Rest in her, Mercy's, lap.

Hold her hand.

(Isaiah 66:10-14, Psalm 66, Galatians 6:14-18, Luke 10:1-11)