PSALMS © 2008
It's been very difficult to follow Your trail,
In the dust of days when the wind steals from me,
At the starting point of the cross where blood, worn out,
Dried the earth, and hope, light, already flies.
Barefoot, I feel the pain etched into the ground,
Each step echoes, but there is no sound of redemption.
The cloak I seek, made of silence and lament,
Is but the shadow of your last movement.
The dust scatters what remained of contentment,
And in my empty hands, I find only solitude.
But I know that in the breath of faith, amidst the confusion,
I shall find, perhaps, the meaning of this wind.