JERUSALEM

Which was it?
Thunder in a dark night?
Maybe a single piercing ray of sun,
Let free by winter-cloud gate-guards?
----------------------------------------------

Snapshots:
The chilly air, puffed by the silent wind,
Unto a silhouette.
Perched on a cold stone wall,
Your halo painted by the Holy lights behind.
Old graves, so out of context,
With all of that which was, and tried to be.

And aimless ramblings, twisting like the ancient downhill
road,
Wanting to reach the restful dale that hides below.

Your endless fingers,
Curling to the touch...
The speechless mouth, its secrets tightly bolted.
Closed eyes:
What ticks behind them?
Who do those thoughts belong to now?
------------------------------------------------

The thunder brings with it the Rain
That wets the soil
That bears the seed
That breeds the sprout
That springs the bud...
... Of what?