Words Without Lightning

It’s Christmas.
It’s Christmas. So regardless of any present
darkness and that which might be close behind,
there is conviction. There is longing,
there is hope, because there has to be.
The whispered blessing draped in sin just might
save us after all. Our words without lightening,
our actions frail, wisdom still green after so many,
too many, chances. The sun, a facade of endless light,
and to learn not only of its surrender
but of the relieving darkness is a knowledge
that colors all else: thoughts stirring toward a climax,
hesitations itching for a turning point. It colors
even the thought of you, my friend. Then we see
with precision perhaps only out of necessity,
breathe with intentionality only for the flower
that never made it to full bloom. It’s up to us, now,
not to forget that darkness or to pretend
we were untouched by the nightmare. But to use it.
Use it and be blessed. Hang on to rain, for the memory
of lightening. Hang on to lightening, so when you love,
you “love with a love that is more than love.”*

*Edgar Allen Poe