Holograms of God
This once-mighty city,
reduced to rubble, a reminder
of quickly the fall comes.
you are one of the fortunate ones,
a survivor of my own configuration,
a thing rebuilt, the ruins unseen, hidden
in the new walls you have built,
strangely porous save for interrupters
of your peace,
saved by the one or two who lived a grace
most profess, but few live. Holograms of God
in a world gone angry.
You see ruins differently now, finishing the picture,
eager to know what was once there,
and how the fall came to be, fast or slow,
self-inflicted or the product of events beyond control
of even the wisest and strong, always believing
there is a way back.
About this poem
After my coming undone a decade and a half ago, I have worked hard to find a peace that is mine, not the product of what others think or feel. It was a long journey, painful and slow and worth every moment of struggle and pain getting here.
Grace is a wonderful thing, when we accept it.
PS: The picture was taken in Pompei. Someday I am going back. It was a humbling and fascinating experience.