The Contingent

All the cords connecting us
Are thin and frail.
All the fibers and filaments
That weave us together,
Illuminate us,

Depend on
That diadem
In the crown
Of brave
That wraith
That beckons
From the shore of
The ever-shifting

Let those whose cords have broken
Go on to the
That is only

Let us mend the brittle braids
Of those who ache to hold on,
And bind up the wounds
Of the weary.

There is no healing
Where there is no rest.

Bring silence,
Bring light:
Only what is sheltered
Grows strong;

Only she that
Is held
Is helped;

Only he that
Can at last

--Mr. Gobley

1 comment:

karen said...

Since you have written this, i have pondered as to the feelings you are experiencing- it's a vulnerable poem.

One word always comes to my mind when i read these words:


It's snowing pretty hard here, today. Winter is more than a hint, she's a promise to stay for many months to come.

I hope you are sheltered, mr g.
I know you are appreciated:0).