in the history of each half-lived life
so many bones
so many broken things
abandoned promises, buried dreams
sunken hopes with all their limp and dangling tendrils
(this is what I was going to be
this is what I meant to create
this was the early childhood promise
that was blighted by some careless, heavy hand)
fear not
each of these gets to rise
each one gets to join with others
as was intended, as was designed
to form a perfect arc
through which can pulse
the light of life
illumine everything
redeem each fallen chance
son of man, can these bones live?
can the mighty wind of oneness
unite their spirit again?
look
look and see
the rise of even that
one small tendril
is your proof.
*Ezekiel 37
©Wendy Mulhern
October 21, 2011
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