Wednesday, 27 September 2017


This Poem first appeared on Altarwork 
The picture of Father dropping seeds, feeding things, the sound of the creaking, unoiled gate at the bottom of the garden. The sinking feeling of not knowing how to come home, but the shining light that illuminates His face. These images are a part of me. I see this poem so clearly, having entered that gate 15 years ago, I'm just caught up by His face. And the Love that's never changing from His Heart, I needed to share this poem right here... 

 Father. Framed in black and white, ​
your smile captures the light on a broken window pane.​
Father. Bag in hand, other hand open. Lifted high.​
Seeds for others to eat, light – laced seed, ​
feeding the world’s forgotten things.​
Feed. ​
Father. There is a gate at the opposite end of the yard, it is open.​
Is there space for me to slip in?​
Let’s talk over by the body of water that resembles a pool.​
Draw near. Our faces wrinkled in the water’s gaze.​
We look the same.​
Our reflection in water’s grace, smile at the sameness of our eyes.​
Father. Framed by light. Squint my eyes and you fade into the dark shadows.​
Correct my sight and you fill the scene.​
Bathed in the fires flame. ​
Hands open Wide.​
I enter the gate at the bottom of the yard. Tired.​
You hear the steel, it’s different from most who enter.​
Smile. You turn, it’s me. I’m home.​
Here, embraced.​
Forget all else, you turn because it’s me. ​
Your eyes filled with my broken need.​
I’m coming home to you.​

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