Thursday, March 30, 2006
Doubts and loves
From the place where we are right,
flowers will never grow in the spring.
The place where we are right is hard
and trampled like a yard.
But doubts and loves dig up the world,
like a mole, a plough,
And a whisper will be heard in the place
where the ruined house once stood.
The ruined church grows
Taken apart, bit by bit,
It could not grow without dying
Without being torn asunder
And as I sat opposite her
She looked up and smiled
and whispered a thanks
In the end kindness mattered
Kindness won over despair and desolation
Seek no more in the trampled yard
Live the answer