speak soft of that time, twice blessed, Thrice sealed
when all the cataclysm of these knotted days
will roll out in fruitfulness, bride-blushing with joy.
when the furrowed, fallow soil
of mist and tangle and tears
will lie sweet-sleeping and white
with the deep, coolness of resurrection
between our comparing palms.
when the seeds perpetually sown with sighing
will shimmer in our laden arms,
the perfect harvest of all the years
forever fruitful, finally telling:
that the tracked and burning wilderness
indeed gave way to a crown.
when the bloody crash of everything
that crowded to bursting, these earthly days
will break in a final snowfall of blessedness
over our quiet, emblazoned heads.
“Instead of your shame there shall be a double portion;
instead of dishonor they shall rejoice in their lot;
therefore in their land they shall possess a double portion;
they shall have everlasting joy.” ~ Isaiah 61:7