Bereaved of My Own Grandeur


That moment your holy laughter rose,
When I recognised the sound,
When I knew it was that old mirth.
It was that same bellow of joy
That once stirred.
It was the laughter that broke the sadness,
It was the laughter that lifted the cloak
That lifted the sadness and inhabited.
It’s back.
A voice I longed to hear but
Whose sweet tones I had almost forgotten.
Too soft, too subtle, too strong.
Unshakeable, gentle steel.
You’re welcome.
I’ll take my shoes off.
I wouldn’t want to traipse the mud and dust in.
I am nothing, nothing.
What can I clasp to in such a presence?
How could I endure?
What use is my mask?
My pretension? My make-believe?
When the light penetrates.
Unhidden. Laid bare.
Bereaved of my own grandeur
For I stand before yours.

22 January 2016