The Mourning Plow
Copyright © Colleen Cahoon. All rights reserved.
Winds of turmoil,
Swirl behind the mourning plow,
Exposing tender wounded debris.
Embedded roots moan to be left alone,
To return to hide,
In dark crag comfort,
Of the jagged, but familiar.
Tilling old with new,
The plow, indiscriminately cruel,
Surfaces the moist forgotten;
Driving low, the high and dry.
Protests and queries yield no reprieves,
Anguish and anger
As salted blur, of love that grieves.
The dust of disturbance settles,
Abstractly to receive,
Nutrients of mourning's due.
Amidst discernment's filtering array
Of discovery and distraction,
Seeds conceived in chaotic change,
As miracles of new flowerings.~ Colleen Cahoon
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