“Lord, lift my son to You”
I lost and found him throughout the years,
In stories that wound and then tangled with tears.
There I lay soaked in a hive of mother fears,
Caught in the crossfire of life’s past arrears.
I surrendered, confessed, in soliloquy bared,
And all of my words left your heart undeclared.
You are loved, my son. My soul pours without end.
Nothing could sever or hinder soul’s blend.
Your eyes blue dwell like faraway doors,
Yet I wander through of decades horizons, yours.
More cherished than anything that words could hide;
Inscribed are the visions that love wrote inside.
Lord, carry what I am powerless to hold.
Lift my son’s heart to Yours in Love’s mercy bold.
Be His Father, stir the miracles – the ones that were born
When you formed him in me, your own Spirit’s dwelling sworn.
© 2017 Linda Willows
In the morn after night as your shadow turned north
I woke in the press of deep absence; remorse.
My heart ached your soul-print, from core of life’s birth,
such ancient sentenial, long kept to withstand
lives near and born of my own blood and God’s hand.
No mourning can alter the graves carved of scars past,
not sorrow or “righting’ nor apology lasts.
Kneading, rewinding, retreading reviewing-
the retelling deceives and devours promised grasp.
Show some new binding that mends sorrows cry
Spread it all in the dark where shadow hopes die.
Protect every heart and stand near life’s door-
that no one would ever be lone in love’s pour.
An Eastern light opened this prayer in the graves;
Pray, press on, don’t let fear smite the brave.
Hallowed in presence o’er the bind of blood vow;
The issued decreed that we heal and allow.
What always endures, for all veins holds joined in birth;
is the bond of blood’s let and the soul’s keep unearthed.
Mother, to shadow, son’s grievance most deep;
pray God heal such wound and fold all in Love’s Keep.
Pulse of all heartbeats cannot lose time.
I lived back through my errors, my trials, death and crimes.
But Our God wrapped me round in the folds of dove’s silk,
And He tendered my heart like a babe seeking milk.
My shadow lost still walks north in quest of depart
Once my hearts treasure, now a soldier torn apart.
Turn again, my dear shadow, birth child of the dawn.
Come home to born vein, eternal from ever…
may God grant redemption, all hearts never severed.
© 2016 Linda Willows
Photograph by Jarrod