Aftermath of the End

The house stands at a crossroads,
less a house perhaps
than a ruin,
a victim of storms and abandonment,
of time and the hidden wear,
sure as gravity,
that pulls at us all,
until even the ruin falls
into rubble – disappears
under vines and new growth
until there is nothing to mark it’s life.

But there is something in you,
some madness perhaps,
a gentle refusal
to release these ruins
before their time,
a dogged insanity
that God tells the truth
and death is the lie,
unless of course,
we choose differently.

And so,
in the aftermath of the end,
you walk around the ruins,
dazed, uncertain
where to start or what to do,
uncertain even that it is ours to do,
simply sure there is a reason

life goes on,
steeped in a faith, blind
with tears, yet
somehow able to see
clearly

that these ruins
are only the beginning.

About this poem.

I got home this morning about one thirty, Home after a 15 hour drive, home after a couple of weeks as my mother died, and we prepared and shared the memorial service with a church full of people who loved her. And this morning, finally at home, I am listless. I do not know where to go, what to do. Where to begin.

But life persists, we go on. We rearrange our hearts. We rediscover joy. New ones even. We rebuild the ruins because life is not meant for death, but life, joy, abundance.

“Begin Anywhere” says the stark magnet on my ice box. So I let my life disciplines kick it. My morning began in prayer, then poetry. “Begin Anywhere” it says. Just begin.

The picture is of a house in Botetourt County, Virginia that Drewry and I stumbled on during one of our many picture taking outings when we lived down there. You cannot imagine how often I have hoped someone reclaimed it fro the bring, before it was too late.

Tom