I Saw What You Carry

I Saw What You Carry

(“So then, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” Romans 8:1)

You walked by and I saw what you carry,
I saw the burdens, the load heaped on you from
far before I knew you. I saw the weight on your
face and around your eyes, the gravity that draws
you down.

The voices you hear are not your own,
or god,
or conscience,
but lyrics of dissonance that have cast
you aside.
Your song is higher. Your melody is sun
and wine. Your story is timeless. Your place

In this world

Was infested with thorns when
poppies should have covered your days
from hill to pond, from pond to horizon,
from horizon to sunsets inhabited by
butterflies.

I will shoulder the load for a while. I will
rewrite the lyrics.
I will find a place, a meadow or a beach,
where you can lay some of them down.
I will reflect the way the light plays off your face,
I will let you see your original portrait in my heart.

Lay them down. Breathe the daylight. Believe you
are flawed and fabulous, free and no mere accident.
Lay them down. And this moment, this second,
this tiny universe of time,
feel the hands of all who have loved you
and leave the others behind.

You walked by and I saw the light in
everyone’s eyes that
twinkle because of you.
You were never meant for ice, though some
have left you cold. And this season,
this turning, this inexact point in time,
feel the hearth of all the hearts that
would warm you forever,
because they have seen you

Walk by too.