“They are… wild ocean waves leaving nothing on the beach but the foam of their shame.” Jude 1:13
Your words lapped at the shores of my soul,
Touching tender places with their ebb and flow,
Gentle, encouraging, nourishing.
Quietly I sat at the oceans edge,
Words carefully writ; a message in a bottle to: The Worn, The Shipwrecked, The Deserted, The Alone.
I lingered for months at the seaside,
Combing through shells, collecting words for the emptiest of buckets.
A pretty phrase; a winsome word; secrets subtly whispered,
Into seaside shells.
The mist rolled in, the fog engulfed
A tsunami of ‘great swelling words’ striped my garments.
Speechless; powerless; hopeless.
Wordless waves rage, leaving nothing,
My silhouette remains; clothed ‘in the foam of your shame.’
Bucket crushed, shells scattered, soul fractured.
In the silent swells my soul remains,
Overwhelmed by the undertow,
Down, deep into the dark I go.
Listening, unable to hear,
Looking, unable to see,
Reaching, unable to grasp.