Tag Archives: prayer

Whispers and Murmurs

At the first of morning, before work begins,

me and Emily Jane walk in the dim, damp mist.

The second growth forest, the call of singing birds,

the dark, dark ink of the cross on her pale wrist.

We say nothing, their is only the cool and quiet.

A little creek runs beneath us, reminds me of childhood.

A still, quiet voices whispers in the air, and I can almost

feel close to The Spirit in her, that I’ve scarcely ever understood.

She turns to me, takes me hands into her own, and bows her head

and in murmurs and whispers she prays over us, this new day.

I bow my head, and feel at peace, before the war begins again,

I wish I was always with her in these moments, that innocence could stay.

To Hell

Long golden hair, pale from the sun and a minor vanity, tied up by a brown leather strip.

Dull grey tank top and khaki fatigues, old, worn and so faithful boots, holding on for her.

Deep and earthy brown eyes, that radiated sweetness, but had the marks of bitter loss.

We sat side by side on the edge of the wilds, deep in Texas, in the harshness of summer.

Helicopters chopped the air above us, like the devil beating his wife, loud barks of aggression.

Soon one would lift off with both of us inside, to Houston, where it’d all gone to hell this time.

She’d take picture, and I’d write words, to show the world what had happened in hell this time.

But the world always rolled on, like every assignment before, until hell finally claimed the world.

The city in the distance, Houston, where held had shown up a few days ago, was red and raw

out there on the horizon, a wound that hadn’t healed and was filled with infection, a broken flesh howl,

as the fires burned and everything seemed to slip farther and farther away from us saving ourselves.

She still wears the Joan of Arc medal I gave here when we were confirmed, a faith found in the corner of our eyes.

It’s time for us to go, we collect our bags of gear and walk onto the tarmac, to fly into the fire.

National Guard soldiers and first responders, other journalists here, trying to repair, trying to record.

We board our chopper and lift off into a sky blue and smoky and churning and heavy with threatened rain.

Her eyes are closed, her head slightly bowed, praying perhaps for strength, deliverance, and a chance at hope.

Trains Ran Right Past Her Backyard



Sumner sat in her tiny back yard, in the cold of December,
drinking hot coffee, looking up at the smattering of stars
that shone through the lights of the city.

An Amtrak train passed right past her backyard, shaking
the rickety wooden fences that separated everyone’s yards,
the horn howling out into the darkness like a wounded demon.

When she was little, Sumner imagined riding on one of the
trains that passed behind her house, heading to New York City
or Boston, somewhere far from her broken world.

She dreamed no longer of such things. No place offered freedom.
The Devil was everywhere. The Devil could not be escaped.
The Devil had conquered the world.

There was an itch in her brain this night, a thorn in her thoughts,
of the one who she thought loved her, who’d left her behind.
She fearfully, tenderly, touched her belly.

The trains couldn’t take her to a better world,
she could not escape her world, broken and growing dark.
The fight was here, in her house, with her family.

She went inside, down into her room, to the small closet,
In the dark she went on her knees to fight The Enemy,
to fight for the hope of the world, to find the love in The Light.