Grace

Cross-legged on a mountainside,

Back against a tree,

I feel others nearing

Whom I neither hear nor see.

Though my eyes are open,

I see no one at all.

I care not for comfort.

I wish to hear and heed the call.

I've waited to hear it,

Call to make eternal rhyme.

But long though I have waited,

I know it's not my time.

My mind is onward reaching,

Tendrils sent throughout

All the earth beneath me,

Those who live within and out.

I feel them drawing closer,

Angels, my wound, to heal.

Suffered on the battlefield,

I wished not to feel.

Deepest gash in my right side,

Much life fell therefrom.

While I try to right the scale,

And gain a happier sum.

Hands of heaven, gentle, touch

Where foe's death-blade fell,

In a try to make writer-warrior's

Soul-body well.

Too much life-water lost,

More angels kneel around.

Hands on head, arms, back, chest,

They make not one sound.

But I yet do feel it,

The love they pour inside

Brought from our Heavenly Father,

Love wide.  Eternity-wide.

I'm filled with such soul-balm

I've not felt.  Now I taste.

This, that I might share

This, God's own grace.

This prayer I offer you.

This, Grace shared anew.

Grace, and all God's angels
I beg God to help you, too.

Adam Scott Campbell