I wrote this poem a couple years ago. Thought I might share it. 
Let me know what you think.
October is leaving,
and lines
etched in sadness
between the worlds
are thinning again…
monsters are in the mists,
and yet children are
on the streets
laughing
in a crazy world…
and somewhere,
hands clasped
tightly together,
someone crying,
feeling something like terror
mingled with hope;
a young man clutching rocks
and dirt, memories,
wrestling
in a moment of time
with a universe of aching,
breaking,
to give up,
or to be brave…
and around our dining table,
in our lonely beds,
do we bare our wounds?
on the dusty floor,
on the cold ground,
do we give our thanks?
and how can the soul be expressed
in the waiting, before
tidings are glad,
oh when will joy be great?
so many waters,
so much blood in the earth of us,
so much grace unseen,
a quest for light, for a home,
and in the dark wood, in the wilderness,
for warmth, warmth in the cold,
and rain,
for love’s blankets, on thundering days…
for a place, a time,
to bare our wounds,
for the words, and the heart,
to give our thanks…
rain-bound,
the snow
doesn’t stick to the ground,
but the stars remember a time,
a time when a child was born,
and stayed for a season,
fearfully and wonderfully born
into a broken world…
and growing up,
teaching, challenging,
forgiving, healing,
dying
at the hands
of a broken world,
but for a broken world too…
and committing into the Father’s hands,
a seed becomes many seeds,
and it was a good death,
because death could not hold him down…
for in springtime,
the sun remembers,
and darkness reigns
no more;
when wounds are healed,
when a reason for thanks is given,
when the Prince of Peace arises…
