Walking Ashore

Darkness, like Armageddon,
does not announce its birth.
You begin to see walls crumbling on you.
And there you are, swimming to nowhere
after being broken by nightmares.
Because every sound is a constellation
of scourges on your existence.
There’s something persuading you
to leave this place of woes:
ten thousand woes after an amen of blessing.
Is home not a haven of peace?
You remember we are parts of the same fig,
and stayed to feel the touch of winter with me.
You would call God if you knew him,
as you would a beggar roaming the streets,
as if he was the one in need of you.
I learnt there is an answer to prayers
even in God’s silence. You did not agree.
I do not blame you for saying the brick
life confines you is too large for one.
It is because you’ve forgotten you are broken,
perhaps, a bit – there are too many of you
to sing songs of hope until the stormy sea
parts for you to walk ashore
without your worries.