Joseph

Joseph, in His barren uterine well cried out in the spiralling darkness to the bright blue circle of sky. Alone, amidst the arterial pulse of our own flickering lives, the soul in anguish half-remembers its luminous descent.

Like dung beetles we roll our curious, desiccated loads from shadowy life to shadowy death. Forgotten – the promises in the womb when soul leagued with Maker in inward fire and swore not to forget …

In ignorance we hug the earthly sun until our Father sees our plight and with a nod and gift of grief rouses us from Inner Sleep.

Stuart Judd