A Little Piece of My Own

I've been looking through lots of winter / Christmas poetry (great bedtime reading :o).  I supposed I'm not surprised by the dirges, the weeping and wailing these sentimental greats proclaim over the loss of beauty in their world.  I kept looking for one idea in particular, hoping that one of the famous pens would have written of it.  No luck.  So I took a stab at it.  It comes from that breathtaking moment when the sun sets the sky on pink fire behind all those black trees.  I love looking at their shapes, sometimes able to tell what kind they are, or when lightning struck.  There is one particular scene nearby, where a mile-swath of trees was mangled and snapped off by tornadoes, that when the moon rises or the sun sets on it, it looks so very surreal.  I wish I was a painter or a great poet to do my heart justice.  But here we go.

The Beauty Takes My Breath

Black etchings, limbs reaching, pleading

For the last blessing of the sun.

An abandoned bird’s nest, bouquets of mistletoe

Hung high for the world’s romance.

This silhouette, graceful, in symmetry

This, torn and twisted by the storm.

Disrobed by the chilly winds

Vestige of leafy robes thrown aside

Bare, they are become a lacy filigree

The day’s end, burning through in rosy flame.

The beauty takes my breath.

Standing in silence, the soul is reaching

Reaching for that Light of men.

The shelters given, companionship enjoyed

All memories that sweeten this empty hour.

Some seem unmarked by the cares of time

Others are deeply scarred and torn.

In the quiet, every heart is stripped and bare

Its strength, its flaws, its wounds, its flesh

And then, yes even then, the Light burns through

And in and around the surrendered life

The beauty takes my breath.