“known” Stranger… Poem by Betty Jo Hilger

He lies within the deepest shadowed places
we hide our inner faces from the world
existing there without the smallest shred of doubt
holding forth the wherewithal to hope

Wherein the future grows and rolls its measure past
upon the clouded hillsides, specters rise to view
prophesying images which could, or would yet be
clothing us in garments of possibility

To laugh, to cry
To live, to die
To hold an expectation …

Faith becomes the rope whereby our verve reaps animation
choose to believe, or we deceive ourselves, our soul, our vision…
when dimly contoured countenance calls forth our life’s decision

Accept my love, submit your soul…
Drop your defense, and be made whole…
Just come to me