Translation

There are times,
Weary of the wear,
The mileage of the soul,
Hollow is the stare,
Midnight chimes.

There are days,
Grinding narratives,
The unraveling of spirit,
Collapsing pyramids,
Mounds of malaise.

There is one,
Who is of our own,
The fullness of all beauty,
The dark we have sown,
Pierced and undone.

There is a love,
Mends a bruised reed,
The ending of our endings,
This succor and feed,
We in such need of.

There is salvation,
Smoking wick attended,
The truth of what we long for,
Pain and joys ascended,
A beautiful translation.

Purgation,
Communion,
Adoration.


"A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out." Matthew 12:20.