zaterdag, december 20, 2014

Teveel jaren
in het verleden
zijn getuige van een te lang zwijgen, toedekken, ontkennen, niet verwerkt krijgen.
Maar de kansen keren.
Jaar na jaar
en zelfs in een stroom versnellende tempo
wordt het drukkend geheim in cijfers
namen genoemd
daders aangeduid
dossiers afgehandeld
en toch
is de pijn
nooit helemaal weg

I knew Stan and Jack but
But their lives were not
Filled in. They were half dug.

It's not right.
We are made to dig
And then fill in the hole
Complete  to finish the chore.
That's how we come to know
Who we are. It's about emptying
And filling. Kenosi. Pleroma.
Via Negativa. And Via Positiva

And I'm not sure but they both
Got screwed when it came to emptying
Holes deeper than any body ever needed.
Bodies filled with scars, holes and tattoos
Of grief. Hard hues and dues. Pain's paint chips.

I miss them. And you know what scares me?
I'm still digging too and feeling closer to them both.
There's this hole deeper than I'll need.
And I'm tired of dirt in my shoes and neath my nails.

You know, it's hard to see God
From the ignorant end of a slit trench
Or a grave.

Yea, perhaps no saints in foxholes
But, then again, don't look for atheists
In sickbeds either

Father, forgive us, for our words are black and
Father, forgive me, for a life in search of you.

Bro. Didacus R. Wilson, T.O.R.

for S.G. and J.R. --- dead from Crohn's
© copyright All Rights Reserved Wilson, Richard S.

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