By Abigail Leigh
Stripped of vision, I fumble
on the cliff-edge
against the rush and roar of ocean armies—feud
salt and wind biting my eyes
And my outer self rips away--
A tremor shifts the mountain, my faith too
just like my legs, my spirit
in on itself; ground and grief
piling on top.
Into the abyss I dive
interrogate shadows, excavate
What’s unveiled—earth’s veil
the heavens dawning as morning light
like brightness after rain
an imperishable promise sprouting
over an impermanent problem
For a weighted world: eternity—light
And this assured insurance
Suddenly, bowed valleys rise up
laden stones roll
a path through the sea—revealed
uncrushed, my soul walks forward
does not grow weary.
I am binding hope
to my heart:
over that hill I will be,
eyes stretched, waiting--
And behold, a beacon
across open sea, seen
The power of the waves
The throat of the wind
The promised sun—rising!
You are there, God
You are here.
Abigail Leigh is a harpist and poet from Oregon. As a self-proclaimed paradox, both a creative and analytical being, she draws inspiration from life's dichotomies: the belief that light and darkness, growth and decay, and joy and sorrow travel in tandem. Every season has a story to tell, and she writes because she is committed to unveiling truth from learned experiences. Her poetry has been published in Darling Magazine, Black Fox Literary Magazine, Equinox Biannual Journal and Clayjar Review.
Abigail's other work on Foreshadow:
A Deeper Calling (Poetry, October 2022)
The Mountain Sermon (Poetry, October 2022)
The Fruitless Tenant (Poetry, October 2022)
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