When dawn came,
looking over the mountains we’d found to hide behind,
she was gracious enough to light the way before finding us out.
Kind enough to charm and churn our senses with her illuminating confessions,
giving cause once more to rise
and acknowledge the length of promise that sat as trapped as we were.
Only not really trapped at all,
but we’d abandoned the truest heights of ourselves.
The stature that would allow us to see over.
Kept at bay when we’d forgotten to choose to stand.
And she changed us with her gentle passing,
and moved the very scene.
Caressing the jagged spaces we’d one day meet.
Warming the ground we’d one day walk.
And walk we would when our standing had been tried and proven.
Walk we would when our standing was sure.
Waiting to hear God’s voice over the noise
meant waiting for the noise to become beautiful.
Beautiful like doubt wrapped in doing.
Like resistance cloaked in peace.
Like tears caught by a friend’s strong shoulders,
or realizing that your own shoulders will have to be enough.
Beautiful strength in the deafening lonely,
with only the soul in attendance.
Only the soul to applaud you
in an ovation of one.
Standing in recognition of your work,
at the edge of life’s long stage.
The trouble was in the details.
It was hard to find words to describe the man who didn’t know what he stood for.
He had blended in so well with his surroundings that he almost went unnoticed.
He’d found that turning into “no one in particular” was the easiest way to go.
So, with each step in the direction of being agreeable, he lost a feature – an aspect of what made him distinctively himself.
Smudging the fine lines into a blur.
Falling into such an acquiescent path in life that he left nothing of himself to identify.
Blending in so well that he could no longer be found.
Only a shadow of a man.
Indistinguishable in the background because he neither stood up nor stood out.