Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Lost Saints Wandered Through Forests Of Miracle

lost saints wandered through forests of miracle
treading the light but never crushing it;
famished, making the music shine:
alone.

how are you far from home

when you carry Him with you
lost saints wondering wondered
and they did not err.

and they are shot with gold.

and they are jewel like in their speaking
if they should speak.

how will small animals defend themselves 

when they are gone
when the bluebird blue no longer

hangs onto

the hidden flowers,
before the approaching heel and
with none to gather them.

mary angela douglas 11 december 2013



Note on the poem: this poem is my impressionistic tribute to old legends of the saints such as The Little Flowers of St. Francis.

But it is not the saints that are lost, even by the poem itself you can understand this since they carry their home (God, Christ)with as within them and it is, after all, the forests of miracle, this being the chief one.  I also mean "saints" in the old-fashioned meaning,as all believers.  And it is in the last stanza's reference the heel of disregard, the heel of unfeeling power that approahces to crush the "small animals" or the defenseless, yet, like them, our defense is of God, so what seems like lost is not lost, what seems like threat is not threat if you realize that you carry God uith you who has said to us "I will be with you, wherever you go".