Beckoning

Beckoning
from the cold,
empty
place that

sometimes rises
in my soul.

I call out -
not knowing
but
trusting
I will see
a face.

Trusting
I will hear
a voice.

The heart
alights at the
hope of encounter,

the mind is
put to ease.

A stillness
blows over the
barren, snow -

only the snow,

and in that
cold, cold
wind

is the warmth of
feeling that

all shall be well,
all shall be well,
all manner of things
shall be well.

I cannot give this to
my mind,

it races a thousand
thousand directions.

But creeping,
slowly seeping
out of my heart
is a sure sense
that the ONE will
be here.

And in that epiphany,

the mind is settled
choosing not to ride
its daunting waves
and peace comes

catching me in its
sure strong hands.

It is a path
I can only enter
by beckoning,

by crying our in my despair.

Then,
only then
does peace
flood my soul.


_____

Peace,

Tom +