Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Six More Weeks of Winter

Six More Weeks of Winter
A poem dedicated to mothers and fathers who grieve the loss and suffering of their children. Lord, have mercy.

An icy, gnarled claw
Grips our valley, homes, our land.
Unprejudiced, be damned,
Be young, be old, have all, have none.

Piercing wind blows through
Windowpanes turned masterpiece
Bitterness and beauty kiss
In one breathtaking gust.

A seasonal haven forsaken,
Becomes a seasonal desert.
Groaning under her winter weight
She speaks to those who hear.

Heads low, eyes down.
Men scurry door to door
Seeking respite from the cold
Seeking hope and seeking home.

So is the winter of the soul
A heart encased in grief.

An unrelenting claw
Comes tearing at my peace.

My breath taken without consent
In awe of life, shocked by death.

Where is my home? Where is my hope?
My respite from the cold?

My groaning will not cease
Until springtime thaws the freeze,
Until hope reveals its face,
And death has lost its sting.


  1. Wow. You wrote this, right? (Or is it some famous poem everyone knows so you didn't even bother giving credit to the author?:) I read it twice... and appreciate it's harshness... and then the last stanza. Thanks Lisa,

  2. Sometimes writing in metaphors is the only way I can pray. Thanks for entering into the harshness with me, Tricia.