Another Poem

Posted September 20, 2013 @ 12:46pm | by Tripp

Of Hope and Water


Unrealized but no less real for it,
In anticipation of what is to come,
I have cut myself
(Old habits die hard).
From you. From them.

From the material sounding.
From the rites, the meal,
the water blessed
(I am so tired of treading this water).
Opting out. Sand and feet.
I wish to quit. All of it.
This "quitting."
The dissonant refrain repeats
but never resolves. In it
There is "no hope";
leading me to wonder if
there is no resolution without
Within or without.


Sound Material hopes not in specifics,
Hoping instead for the Presence
of the One who lives
the One who dies,
of the One who is
the fruition of all things.
Waiting. Longing. Anticipating,
as if Living down a lane with a bench
that invites one to sit,
to rest,
all our waiting done.
A resting but not silence
(Never silence; God, forbid it).
This is the Sound Material: Her Voice,
That Sound alone to drown in.


Might I learn
to anticipate something new?
Sounder stuff than this?
Might I learn
to anticipate hope
rather than grief?

Take me to the river.
Wash me in the water.
(Does Brian Eno know?)
Drown me. End me.
I am tired.

Then, maybe, after a time,
Sounding the deep,
might I rise again
"drenched in grace." 

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