|Author:||Nola||Published:||about 5 years ago|
She cups it in her hands,
feels the faint flutter against her palms,
returns it to its temporary home—
the cavern in her chest.
Casts her eyes across the day,
her hope, a dimming lamp,
that searches shadows on the plain
for havens offering rest.
Time mocks her attempts,
her portion’s almost gone,
her vagabond heart could flatline
for lack of care.
prepares to fall.
He whispers her name,
she’s heard his voice before
and almost followed once or twice,
where broken dreams have called.
He holds out his hands.
She sees the scars,
gasps for air,
catches his gaze,
the power and gentleness there.
An irregular pulse strains and strives
towards its last heroic act.
She puts her heart in wounded hands
and feels the jolt
© Nola Passmore; Published in Fruit of the Spirit Anthology of Christian Poetry (Ed. Betty Madill), Blue Butterfly Publishers, Inverurie, Aberdeenshire, 2010, pp. 19-20.