For Broken Trust
by John O’Donohue
Sometimes there is an invisible raven
That will fly low to pierce the shell of trust
When it has been brought near to ground.
When he strikes, he breaks the faith of years
That had built quietly through the seasons
In the rhythm of tried and tested experience.
With one strike, the shelter is down
And the back yoke of truth turned false
Would poison the garden of memory.
Now the heart’s dream turns to requiem,
Offering itself a poultice of tears
To cleanse from loss what cannot be lost.
Through all the raw and awkward days,
Dignity will hold the heart to grace
Lest it squander its dream on a ghost.
Often torn ground is ideal for seed
That can take root disappointment deep enough
To yield a harvest that cannot wither.