Words, the stealth-like weapons
we can unleash with relative ease,
whose half-life far-exceeds plutonium,
exacting force for generations to come.
Mass, not just the orthodox celebration
of Eucharist-focused worship,
but also measurable weight and
that overarching sense of totality.
Destruction, the dismantling of that
which has been constructed,
without the least concern for
design, purpose, material, or inhabitants.
We are forever facing two extremes:
“I couldn’t help but let that out!”
“I’ll never let you forget you did!”
Both of which enlarge the chasm.
Somewhere in the darkness lies
a tongue well-bitten,
a conversation purposefully forgotten,
hands of grace extended, embraced.
As morning finally arrives,
we will recognize its presence when
forgiveness is as fully self-accepted
as it is freely other-given.
Until that first light shines,
we can only limp away,
Jacob-like from our Peniel,
ever-seeking to see the face of God.
© 2011 Todd Jenkins
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