the face of my god is dark, <br />her eyes coal more precious than diamonds. <br />she whispers to fallen petals, <br />and mountains and rivers speak forth. <br />her lips call crows and name them eagles, <br />her hands are filled with bowls. <br />she names the darkness morning, <br />and from the light she weaves the night. <br />she bathes the human spirit, <br />in the sweat of tribulation. <br />she nurses the unwanted child, <br />and places flowers on unmarked graves. <br />she gives lost lovers candles, <br />builds bridges for weary pilgrims. <br />she forges doubt into the journey, <br />and plants dignity in fields gone fallow. <br />she walks with poets in intimate silence, <br />from grieving she harvests prayer. <br />from prayer she forms bodies, <br />filled with destiny's breath!<br /><br />Eric Cockrell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/destiny-s-breath/
