The gentle man I cannot see. Beyond the rushing, turbulent waters and pressuring pipes. Kind as a hand to help you up a welcome smile with whom we sup. No nightmare’s call, no sand abrades having put down the blades of discomfort and defense. Calmly on the sands of this time waiting for the call or conveyance to battlefield or silent altar.

Some things are chipped away in the jostling quest. Boundaries of acetone and chaos seeking dominion in the freakish melee. Where is this anger to be deposited but upon those whom are loved. Raging in the dark of night and the broad silent base of morning sun. Torn from the peace of a once love filled child beaten beyond self control.

Oh, thrashing upset, find pulse and peace in quiet dawn. There is no tomorrow without making it across the canvass of today. No darkened heart, no porous membrane of the vacuous night. Absorbing, stealing, making resistant the loving intent. To joy and calm we see the turbulent seas reside seeking soft and sheltered lagoon.

What’s made when mettle is melded to outcomes beyond person and resolve? What questions asked into the silent separation from the things yet come? Beckon, seek, send sounding to the glorious and unknown depth of reasonable request. To reconcile the pieces that should never been shaken or torn asunder in the fray.

Be still owe the knowledge of the day as its light pierces corner or doorway. Shielded eyes, hand held tightly to furrowed brow hoping for answers yet reluctant in revelation. Not to oracle or prominent saint but to the marrow of all universal bone. Enter the center while never having left the crossed leg seat upon the ledge at window’s passing.

This sorrow must be deposited in the culverts and broom’s hollow. A pile of pain known only to the memory’s passing. Vulnerable shame acquainted with innocence as it is taken by force and promised return at judgment. So sad that the gladness of a childlike heart was never acceptable in this place seeking only to consume all in its path.