When I last saw you, in this rubble and mess, I scaresly knew mysel, for fear was all around me. And nothing here was blessed. But a shaft of light appeared; so bright I could not see. And peace came all around: No bombs, no guns, just me.
You held out a hand, so warm, so free That none could resist its pull. And fear just up and went from me That beckoning hand was full Of Love, it was so hard to see
That through these tears, so faithfully And in these streets of shame, A man as you would seek me out, And call be by my name.
So, in the silence, out I came From that infernal flame. And peace and love was all around.
I never knew your name.
Poet’s Note: I was inspired by a picture on the cover of the Church Times of Jesus in the ruined streets of Syria holding out his hand to anyone who would come.
I'm married, fifty seven years of age with two grown up sons. I work at the local railway station in customer service. I have always enjoyed writing poetry and short stories but for the past twenty years I have not written anything because the stream had stopped flowing and had all dried up. Lately someone had admired my recent work and opened up the log jam that had been there all that time and let the stream flow again. It is a great feeling and release.
My heart bleeds, just as my tear-soaked eyes, and anguish-filled-mouth keep asking: why Syria – the Levant – the rising land Why Damascus – the City of Jasmine of shrubs and vines, now turn to vineyard of locoweed and poison