Lord, I’ve been a fool
too wise to hope, too sane to dream
my eyes so dim with learning
I could only believe what I could see.
The witches and the women
the poets and the priests
the madmen and the beggars
they all looked the same to me
raving about some other world
hidden behind our own
and the day when our world
would roll up like a scroll
and the blind see
and the lame stand
and the wolf lie down
beside the lamb
and a little child lead all of them.
But I knew better than that:
that each life ends only in death.
Strike a pot, and it will fall apart.
The same is true for a heart,
and no magic can bind it up,
or make it new.
My heart was proof.
But you were the element
that turned dust to living flesh,
a miracle we tried to forget
as we searched the world for it.
And you were always singing,
in the dark space between the suns
in the pulse of every leaf
on every page, in every sum.
And you were a fool, too, Lord,
for love of us.
And when we couldn’t hear your voice
you wrote it for us in the stars.

Written by: my pal, Carey Wallace

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