God of the softness,
Shatter and break my heart,
And tear at my soul,
Until the precious part of my being is no more.
Lord of the kindness,
Erode and destroy my vision,
As you prepare the way forward,
Until my only anchor slips away from the shore.
Draw the curtains,
That the play may cease.
Close the shutters against the storm.
Wake the sleeping,
That they might be at peace,
Tell them the waters are calm.
Angel of my darkness,
Press my eyes closed,
Bury the box with gold handles,
That I might open wide the great door.
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Author:
David Wakeling (
Offline) - Published: August 24th, 2026 00:18
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 34
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Tristan Robert Lange, A.N.
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Comments3
Such a lovely metaphor for the process of death and a call for calm and peace a fave
Thank you so much mi amigo.Always great to read your comments
Always my pleasure David
David, this is deeply moving and unsettling. Sacred language becomes a plea for release from unbearable suffering...quiet, devastating, and painfully intimate. Powerful work, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Yes it is a bit ironical.You are right,Thanks for your comments.Much appreciated
Yet sometimes, in life, though this poem can relate to dying, we may say prayers aiming to keep us cosy and wrapped in cotton wool, as it were. But then we find that real life isn't like that.
Yes indeed.Thanks for your wise comments.Much appreciated
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