Wednesday, December 03, 2008

Silvered words

I heard your silvered words

I heard your silvered words
soft tongued and eloquent
gentle on the battleground.

The wounded gathered round,
dragging their brokenness,
shell shocked and damaged,
dreams dismissed to bedlam
as thunderous life blasted and screamed
in a clamour of uninvited voices.

Eager ears and searching minds
scrambled to your touch
bringing their wounds.
Open sores at parade ground attention
to be dressed by healing syllables,
soothed, made whole.

Rabbi, Teacher,
Your words leave no scars,
no irritating itch of knitting tissue
no reminding hurt of bruise or blemish.
Bandage and sling, splint and brace
pile high beyond this tent of healing;
testament to those who overhear
Your conversation.

I heard your silvered words
on this hill,
as we munched loaves and fish
but fed upon You.

I heard your silvered words
on another hill,
a darker vista,
as our eyes feasted on the hate of man
and you taught another lesson
“Father forgive…”

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