http://thisfarbyfaith.blogspot.com/2007/12/poetry-party-9-watching-waiting.html

thanks again, christine!

When the women first heard
the news, they turned away,
unwilling to hear the truth,
fearing my dear Joseph
would run. But then,
when he stayed
and my belly swelled,
they fought one another
for a chance to touch me.
As my hopes grew stronger,
I eagerly dreamed of birthing
this Child. Soon, as always,
the women grew bored
as I became just another
young girl with child. If only
they’d looked in my eyes.

Eyes in the Dark

Eyes that glow in the dark,
Two moons circling. What do
They want? Why do
They invade my dreams
And call my name?

Not dreams. There are
No more dreams save this one.
If eyes are the window
To the soul, are these souls
Damned for all time?

Like us, are they trapped?
Where is their home?
I must try to understand,
To help them. In freeing them,
We free ourselves.
Eyes that glow in the dark.

Within
Windows, tiny panes of glass;
clear, hard, shining crystal. You there, without
and I, within. What see you, peering in,
through panes of leaded glass
in blue, or brown, or foggy grey.
Do you see me, living here,
within a house that guards a soul,
a precious burning, fiery ache
to look out and see you, truly
seeking for the truth that hides, within.

Come, and lean your head in close
till veils, our mingled hair fall round,
hiding secret sacred words;
and clasp my fingers, burning now
an eager fire banked within.
For in the dark, cold winter of my soul
He came in silence and begged a place,
within. And I opened, dear beloved, space.
Now look again, through
clear bright glass and see,
that in this holy temple grows a life anew,
and I breath divinity to birth.

we wait,
peering out from
behind hats and scarves
amid the multitude
hidden among
plain and poor
adorned and rich
eyes that speak of royalty
their greatest majesty that
which they watch
patiently waiting for fulfillment
teasing us with past deeds
waiting in response
waiting for response to
their challenge to do better still

Deb

Having left their
hand prints in our lives
in many ways, unknown.

Secrets of life struggles
still hidden deeply,
not to be discovered

Only sensed through
the echoes of our yearnings.
Their stories in our dreams
and hopes and fears.

Our spirits, like rivers,
intermingle with theirs
flowing as one to the sea.