Poem Harrity3

Poem Harrity3


David Harrity

                                                             After Hebrews 12:18-29

Who will walk away holding the pieces of my life?
These petitions simple forms of desire or disease.
Will this ever grow to something I can touch?

A darkness. A trumpet. A tempest. A fire.
Ingredients to make an easier belief?
No, simply moving pieces of our lives.

And what comes of all those prayers?
Gale of whispers ransoming release
from accepting necessity, the need for touch.

What I make in dark despises light so much.
Doubt: refuse the one who knows, who speaks.
Can I walk away with any peace inside my life?

Set aside the script—the piecemeal voice,
guilt’s dusty hands rinsed clean.
I want this to be something close to touch.

Will you divide my simple words—
shake promises, mistake awe for reverence?
I’m walking back cradling the pieces of my life,
but can you become a body I can touch?