There must be a god power
under the darkened surface,
a subtext that can explode
letting lose the kiss of tears
that both break and make your heart.
So weep your river of woe.
Gather it into yourself
and float it down to the sea
where, for your humility,
you are gathered in and loved.
Such is the power of joy.
My love and empathy go out to those who endure, and then who endure some more, and who do so on the power and beauty of their faith.
I write little metered verse, but this one seemed to demand it. While I am hardly an expert in the subject, I think this poem is written mostly in iambic trimeter, a specific type of seven syllables per line poetry. If you think this is incorrect, please let me know.
Thank you for reading Words, they hear you say them. I sincerely hope you have enjoyed it and I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain. As always, I look forward to your comments.
The photograph is of the Quinebaug River, as it flows through Putnam, CT. To see my photography blog, please visit the Book of Bokeh.
Photograph, poem, and notes © John Etheridge; all rights reserved. The poem and accompanying notes are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Work 3.0 Unported License. This applies to all original written work found on this site unless noted otherwise. The attribution claimed under the license is © John Etheridge, https://bookofpain.wordpress.com. The photograph is not licensed for use in any way without the expressed consent of its creator.