Some Kind of Meaning
in the chapel of ages, the priest
listened, offering nothing
but the gathering up of a life’s load
of trouble and shame
some kind of absorber, some kind of
absolver,
shamed himself at the irony and the
wonder
pointing at the signposts
we can travel together, we can try to
unfold
some kind of
meaning in this meaningless world
learning to mourn,
and not just to blame
Lord, don’t let
us leave here just the same
in the field of the ancients, the
shepherd, (hands and heart
callused by afterbirth and the wind’s
rain),
separated mother and child, despite the
long, long night of their pain
the great rhythm of the land’s
rebirth,
the priest turns in his bed and wonders
if it’s worth
praying for some signposts
and all captured here together
taken hostage by
the Sound
and all bleeding
on each other
suddenly real,
suddenly real
in the stones of forever
a thousand clouds of witnesses,
saying that it’s all worthwhile
as we travel together
along the world’s road of trouble and
toil
the strange beauty of an old friend’s
love
is better than anything, if anything’s
enough
when you’re hoping for some signpost
Steve
Butler
Iona,
August 1998
©
2000 Sticky Music