Tuesday, July 26, 2011



THE YEAR HE BECAME A TINY BIRD PECKING…


A bundle of feathers weighing nothing;
a wraith leaving no footprints in the snow;
stumbling on until he reached the valley of bones,
and stood there with others, in their desolation, dripping sadness.

However, their agony became his cure:
befriending them he listened to their stories,
(forgave their tall tales) gave them strength each day to see beyond their particular story; gaining strength himself as a requirement to be there for them.
.
Eventually, one by one, they left that place;
leaving him to close the door on his own memories, and come home.

Today, whenever he meets a homeless person he still listens to their story  
because, as he discovered long ago, our stories are not who we really are.



staring into the mirror
the old man
tries to remember

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

A couple of those phrases blew me away-
a tiny bird pecking
dripping saddness

Beautiful!