It Turns and Softly Speaks
Night after night the empty road,
the home-light diminishing then vanishing
as you travel out into the world again,
hungry for a love that you can never allow.
If only you could pause for a moment,
look down at your feet and not at the horizon,
you might spot the small grey pebble of love
lying discarded where you flung it as a child.
What was the hurt that made you a loner?
How did the wondrous gift become a wound?
You’re alone. You’re still giving
but you’re giving from an exhausted place.
Listen to the sound of love: allow, accept, receive.
Sleeping Mountain Press