Midifo Yearns Poems

O Friday on whose shore the gift is given
Friday, sullied, bloodied, passion driven
day on which in combat, love and hate stood fierce
and sacred flesh the instruments of pain did pierce.
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In life one will be wounded
from that, there’s no escape
it’s what we do with wounds
that gives our life it’s shape.
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As feather floating, on loving Breath
carried on wind of mighty Word
life, as gift, beyond all fear of death
cries out in joy, what seems absurd
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Stands so still as thousands pass him by
Naked, young, and handsome
With eye fixed on goal and
Every muscle tuned to achievement
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Connected by the trail of life
the joy, the pain, the hope, the strife
we do not know, we cannot see
like branches wide on mighty tree.
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Can we ever know the deeper things
that life, through struggle, clearly brings?

By ‘know’ I mean to understand
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Streaky sunlight, shrouded in fog,
afraid like some gaunt and underfed dog,
creeps into my life, enlightens my mind,
breaks through barriers, helps me to find
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I’m tired right now, I cannot see
how to be the real me.
I stand before a silent door
and wait like dust upon the floor.
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Dancing figures on the square
smiles of freedom, moves of grace
beating drums the rhythms bring
to the songs that hearts may sing
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At times attraction pulls and shoves
it circulates and fools the heart.
It settles in the visceral
does not distinguish whole from part
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