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YOUR HEART, GIVEN TO THE LORD
"And ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart." [Jeremiah 29:13, The Holy Bible, KJV]
Thinking of Christina Rossetti
O Christina, my sister in Christ, rose of the briar,
held by light, in a deep garden, by a wall of thorns,
if only you were here, to share a word, a thought,
to understand our holy grief, how when night falls,
all the winds go sighing, for sweet things dying,
even so, such winds pass me by, all year round now,
all seasons alike. The sharp absence, of the beloved,
painting days grey, with the same, ages old, ongoing
movement of the brush, applied by the greatest
artist, to a prison, whose time, has not yet come,
where we must endure, in faith, by trust and hope,
with this wild dog of death, gnawing on our bones.
Once, I read your words, thinking of New South Wales.
You wrote, she cannot feel the rain upon her hand,
but you are in the hands of Christ and I know, for you
now, the purple land of grief, has turned to white
and your spirit, that once lingered within the grain,
ripening on hill and plain, becomes a royal harvest,
of holy angels, reapers, who bring in the final crop,
presenting us, before the king of lights, glorified
in the heavenly kingdom. Frail petals weeping dew,
your words, like bird song, in the very first spring,
known to humankind, your spirit, abiding in Him,
given over, at last, to liberation and to perfection.
Little bird, your songs, so sweet, in the dark world.
Christina, the wind today, blows long and warm,
a late dry season, in a country of enforced dreams.
They call it The Dreaming, but I'm wide awake!
I rebuke the devils of dust, speaking from the rocks,
telling me, their amazing tales and ancient lies
and here I stand, knowing your heart, the bitter truth
and the words, that only silence, can bring to fruition.
If you lived on, where I am, would you comfort me
now, as a sister, holds her twin, in a sunlit field of
flowers, why, they could be any kind, daisies or lilies,
for my weaker moments, in my days of weariness,
light upon light, perfume upon hill, watered by silver,
in an inspired, work of fantasy, by Thomas Kinkade?
Or would you just simply preach, the Word of God?
Now, pass your grief in words, onto us, who remain
and we will turn into wind, that, unrelenting, howls
across the eons of this earth of longing, as we await,
the hour of joyful reunion. Christina, this is not a
work of art, just an imagined note, thoughts of you.
God give us the strength and your style of fortitude,
as our loved ones drop like birds, their lives in every
leaf that falls ... It is only Jesus, can uphold us now,
my sister, how I love, your truth and gentle words,
as I remember you, standing here, in the silent land,
your vista of grief and your heart, given to The Lord.
"Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind."
[Matthew 22:37, The Holy Bible, KJV] |
