Silent Remnants

   by Pamala Ballingham


In our time
there were few shadows
we did not wear,
and few times we did not need the strength
of silent remnants that walked before us —
until, at last,
we found our way to Beauty 
that sustained our holy veils.

It is your time now,
so take our silent breathing 
and breath it full —
with strength that holds the autumn moon,
and ripples silver new spring rains
until, at last,
you find our silent embrace
within the home of your own arms.

Take our silent drumming now 
and pulse it full.
Encircle your torn fragments
until, at last, 
they are mended with sounds
that soar you up, like wings,
above the tempest 
of your life.

And in the valley of our footsteps,
let your lips whisper the old tones
of our silent remnants
that suggest possibilities
you’ve not dared ask of your life
until, at last,
you find your way
and can call it your own.