The universal groan for redemption is always felt but most often left unspoken. Some call it the Ache; the corporeally unsatisfiable soul which names us eternal creatures. We can’t seem to find what we are ultimately looking for – even the clods under our feet are crying for rest, and we know it. But instead of setting our hopes on unseen realities, we try to end our hunger by clinging to what we see and despairing when we lose it… One day I will not see so dimly, but until then, mine is the groan and the hope of living between salvation’s already and not yet.
The dust weeps.
Torrents cannot heal its rending, for
The Curse fingers its way past elements.
All the breathing fight and collapse,
Souls sighing thunder over the state of things.
Grasped pleasures dissolve to cold ash
As time takes and pain shakes
What was only meant for here
And now – in this dismal labor room,
The sweaty, straining City groans loud for
The last re-making.