Judgement

Portland

who are we to judge

the quality of your creation . . 
you tried your very best,
tearing into the experiences 

of your inner soul. . .
digging deep into your heart . .
finding the pieces to build something
to share
with the rest of us . . .
to give as a gift . . . . a balm for our wounds
. . . to heal us,
and to say . ..  "I understand . . .
I have seen the eternal fires . . .

I have climbed those broken mountains,

I have touched the dragon's tooth,

I have tasted the tears of angels,

I have heard the song of the silent . . .

I have been there
and back . . ."

the nascence of your dreams,
like the visions of the gods,
is tender and easily bruised . . .

who are we to judge
your fragile child . . .
as if it were the bleeding refuse of
your imagination . . .
disregarded by our inability
to hear the pleading in your voice . ..
"hear me -
oh hear my cry .  .
the crimson patterns of
my spilled blood
stain the very foundations
of my creations . .. "

We see those weeping patterns
and read them .  . as they drip from your offspring
. . . an ocean of tears . . wept . . .  and storm tossed . ..
mixed with war and love . ..  

death and life . . .

and the filthy mud of our humanity . . .
cemented together and formed

into
an angel arising from that rough material,

and
flying above the maelstrom
to lift us higher . .  into the circle of your arms . . 

where our hearts

melt into yours . . 

and we become one

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Portland