O Emmanuel

the forced occupation
of the barren soul.
The river beds,
empty, cracked.
Once lush landscape
gives way to tundra.
The unimaginable darkness,
hostile to sunlight,
gives no warmth,
a long season
of desolation.
the beating heart
of creation, slows,
flatlines, ceased.
But this, this
is not death,
the despair of hopelessness,
this is the darkness
before the dawn.
Mountains shake,
the river beds swell,
The Water of Life begins
to bubble beneath the surface.
Clouds burst,
fresh rain of hope
spatters thirsty ground.
The soul awakes,
eyes lifted
straining for the horizon,
Lo, He comes,
Our God,



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