Quiet as fallen leaves, I search the dawn
for signs of belonging, signals of faith.
Crows fill the rooftops, rain on wet streets,
the droop of willow and grinding of trucks.
Then I find you at rest in the holy,
carried within me wherever I go.
Doors unlock, windows open,
firelight of being in your kind voice.
Gentle the prayers that heal the wounded,
guide the troubled to the river of grace.
Peace to the city, comfort the unwanted,
light on the path as we make our way home.
Reading of “River of Grace” with music by Chet Baker
Don, your poem is part of the light. Thanks.
Thanks, Don. It seems an impossibly generous gift from above that we should be able to find rest in the holy within: Pure Grace, impossible to earn. But what power and beauty flows from that place we carry.
I think I just found Dawn amidst a flurry of falling leaves. Welcome Home.
Beautiful poem, Don. It struck a deep chord within me. Thank you for sharing it.
Your poetry, Don… so filled with HEART & COMPASSION… like you!
Honoring Your Sacred Gift
It’s when we find ourselves in the Holy that we connect with each other and the Path home revealed.
Loved this rich writing Don
I am holy. Every Human Being IS holy. Your poem is a reminder of this truth. I AM holy.
“Gentle prayers that heal the wounded…” Very nice, Don.
great work Don!
It is a gentle river of quiet Grace upon which my way Home floats in flow. Warmly with You, Don.
It’s just my nature once a I’ve read a poem like this that works for me and in me to look for the elements of language doing the structural heavy lifting. There’s so much spirit moving through this poem, and I see the breezeway is in all those open vowel end words: holy, go, voice, wounded, home being primary. Way to go, Holy Voice!
Such a heartbeat has paid the price to be a trustworthy warrior of the indelible shoulder that balances this world in purity of intention with grounded movement upward.