From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:
There are those who choose
to visit desert places
who revel in the solitude as
seeking for some unpredicted beauty
find blossoms there
and enchantment in the arid wastes.
But we avoid the barren lands
so we think
oases of variety
and fecund warmth of kindred souls.
We have seen the wilderness
and heard the mournful howl of brazen beasts
whose names unspoken
strike a paralyzing fear.
And we have been alone
in deserts desolate of all
except the gritty sand
that wears our feet
and lodges long within our mouths
that stings our tears
that burns our skin
and sings the solemn unpitched note
that seeks to deafen us.
We know a wilderness
where nothing blooms
where sorrow’s sobs can sprinkle nought to life.
Is there a hand to give us hope?
Is there a voice to tell us this will pass?