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Palms Are A Reaching Temple
It was a monumental realization
watching the alter memories.
Days have lived long and hard for many eventful lifetimes…
The sorrow’s well poured and poured from their hearts.Mine sinking an accompaniment deeply with them;
Holding something back…Holding threads of composure
inside the depths of darkness.
…Feeling their absorbent suffering
worse than the selfishness of my own cradle of graves,
and yet through the disparate tears and grievous mourners
significance cried out…revelations shouted their hymnals:
The mourners mourned
The criers cried
The shouters shouted
The weepers wept
The healers healing
I exuded grief within the being of my own soul-
…my heart outreaching new awareness,
as my eyes humbled upon piths of my deepest pain,
and those sorrow’s I kept buried eternally deep
…now released and set free!!
I realized I was not alone…I have never been alone
I held the barrage of suicidal hardships in my heart
…their tears cleansing into my own darkness’s
My silence was observance as it was eventful…
Watching the prayer healers touching lives
into this quickening of spiritual resonance and timbre…
This sense of belonging overseeing every stricken moment
Reaching beyond the pews of true salvation
…memory’s alter lives!
My palms are a reaching temple.
Knowing we are joined as holy redeemers;
These healing hands are upon us all
through the deep spiritual veins
of love’s sanctuary…
Poetry Authoress: Victoria L. McColley © 2012
(written: April 9th, 2012 10:05 p/m)
