Light from origin
Reflected on snow
Overpowers
Inuit hunters
Slitted goggles
Allow narrow sight
Shielding from snow-blind
In the reverse
I see these three
I.
“I have awakened,” he asserts,
“To the hypocrisy of my belief.”
(“Surely all others believe blindly, too,
Plodding overpowered by their own dull will
To remain unseeing.”)
I watch as his eyes narrow,
Lashes sealing out
The searing brightness of a gifted life,
A gushing stream of advantages, privileges, chances.
II.
“It is to suffer,” he assures,
“And God is absent in my suffering,
Therefore, he never was
And never gave in my ease.”
Looking away, twisting from
The hand I extend,
From the chorus of cries for his pain,
From the Balm, unopened.
“My blinders are off,” he speaks.
III.
“If you tell me God loves me,” she taps, edgy,
“I won’t believe it.”
Hanging heart, clouds of opaque, determined tears,
She falls to emerald grass
Nodding heads of jewelled delight
Bordering her bitter garden.
Trees—sentinels–shimmer, beckoning her, Look up!
Infinite space,
azure in this moment of pure breeze,
yet
“There is no sign,” she concludes.
…………………………………………………………………….
Could it be,
I open, then close, to wonder,
Pain, doubt, sorrow, unknowing
Goggle ourselves and narrow vision
Against the Brilliance
That all things denote?
And shunning Light,
We choose
Unseeing.
By Heather Burton
August 20, 2009
