Faith Could Be

A poem for: the dichotomy of belief.

Faith Could Be

Steady and ever, green 
like the gentle brush of needle, pointed 
burst of crimson berries, earthen cones.
Sharp incense and stickied palms,
unchanged for an age.
Circled wreathes and cut trees;
a song sung through time.

Ancient,
complete,
                 unceasing.

— or —

Fraught and frail, grey
like the gnawing ache of limbs, emptied
breath of furling leaves, verdant dreams.
Hard fingers and hidden heart,
drumming slow in the cold.
Boned branches and still earth;
a lingering silence aloud.

Open, 
barren, 
            waiting.

This week of Advent, I’m grateful for the layered lessons in seasonal shifts and simple walks outside to find and to make slow what the world insists on spinning swiftly into everything but meaning.

Wherever your faith and belief rest at the moment, I pray you get a second to pause, to breathe deeply, and to steep in the light offered up, all around, right now.

Blessings,