Post dies octo

There were whispers in that night too,

When, the doors locked out of fear,

Oil lamps guttered and men talked anxiously

Of trust, hope, faith: the certainties that die so easily.

Shadows on anxious faces, shadows

In corners, like deep points in pools

Catching the unwary come to bathe.

For what improbability lurks there ready

To drag the overtrusting from the half-lit place

Into a depth where hope chokes in the dark?

And what might these men see, straining

Weary eyes and wary minds to scry

For vision, comfort, revelation shining

In the shade beyond the reach of light?

NS Wednesday, 06 April 2005

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