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August 11, 2008 / Hannah

r.s. thomas

the coming

And God held in his hand
A small globe.  Look he said.
The son looked.  Far off,
As through water, he saw
A scorched land of fierce
Colour.  The light burned
There; crusted buildings
Cast their shadows: a bright
Serpent, A river
Uncoiled itself, radiant
With slime.
               On a bare
Hill a bare tree saddened
The sky.  many People
Held out their thin arms
To it, as though waiting
For a vanished April
To return to its crossed
Boughs.  The son watched
Them.  Let me go there, he said.

 

I borrowed a poem. thomas was a welsh clergyman who struggled with reconciling the ugliness and pain he saw in life with the beauty and grace promised in his faith. This is one of his poems that demonstrates the fact that often pain and beauty are necessarily connected.

Peace.

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