18 January 2016

Lighten our Darkness ...

Lighten our darkness …

The swirling waters of the great river 
leave behind the bustle 
of the noon-tide port,
the scream of sirens,
and the rattling of grain
pouring into boxes on the Quay.
The river, calm now, 
flows into the roseate West 
and the tired sun sinks lazily 
into a darkening sea.

In the Minster 
the evening candles have been lit,
their shadows dancing 
like grasses in the wind
spread across the stone altar
in the old chapel
where the red light hangs, 
a perpetual reminder 
that this is a place 
of sanctuary and of prayer.

Beside the estuary 
and across the vast expanse
of mud and marsh and sand,
pink footed geese 
fly home to their roost, 
while the curlew’s haunting cry
faintly echoes the bell’s 
summons to Evensong,
there to give thanks for the day,
and pray for a quiet night.

“Lighten our darkness 
we beseech thee O Lord”
The ancient chapel stirs,
the old words reverberate
and gather darkly 
in the rafters high above,
as tiny candle flames 
leap suddenly upwards, 
haloes of light in darkness, 
an answer to prayer.

The sky above the estuary is filled 
with the dusky mist of evening.
A lamb stranded on the Sea Bank
calls for its mother, 
but only a Barn Owl hoots
as he swoops low 
across the salt marsh
to find his fishing ground,
at the edge 
of the wide river. 

Tomorrow the sun will rise again
into the eastern sky, 
and the world will be remade 
as it has been daily since 
those first bright days of creation.
While tonight, 
far away across the marsh, 
a lone blackbird still sings,
and we shall rest 
in the arms of a loving God.

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