Grief Out In the Open
The owls, hoo knows why, they do give a hoot.
Do humans give a hoot, or holler more?
The moons of hollowness...the wait for loot.
The holy prayer-knees...the beak defeats.
The dove descends with not a hoot, but peace.
A gentleness does fill a broken heart.
A grieving grace from God — the tears’ release.
Oh Geez! The anguish lifts...the fog departs.
Or does it leave? Wait, not so fast! Those tears
They shine like diamonds not polished yet.
The roughness, of the hooters hell, I fear —
They’ve, left the perch, on fire; God’s shield is wet.
Yay! for the shield is wet — it douses threats.
The umbrella of God wields no regrets.
5/24/2021
Copyright © Kim Rodrigues | Year Posted 2021
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