Where There is Pain

Where there is pain, there is a rose
Through which the light flows.
If you must pray, take your time:
Your heart reflects what is in mine.
Where there is ruin, there are stars
Where nothing—what is ours.

Take my hand in the churchyard.
Our touch is cold—our spirits scarred.
Candles in your hands, flame to my lips
In our eyes to our souls, an eclipse.

The wasteland of what was built before;
A life; a world that is no more.
I sing with freedom in a snare
As if there were some way to compare
What had been to what is today.
As though I there were words to say.

Where all is ash amid the trees—
Scent of death upon the breeze,
Emerging from the rubble and ache,
A dream from which we wake
To the ghosts left to exercise
Side-by-side should that day arise

The birds shall sing anew
From skies of ashen hue,
The sun, hidden from view,
The moon once full and blue
Will be as blood in shadow, too
But know, I will be with you.

Take my hand in the churchyard.
Our touch is cold—our spirits scarred.
Candles in your hands, flame to my lips
In our eyes to our souls, an eclipse.

© 2020 Marten Hoyle