Sorry for the length… It just kept going and I could not figure out how to edit things out.
Cloaked
I speak of a people who inhale the scent of sacred earth by placing their faces to it
At a time when most of the world is asleep and dreaming of providence
They make their backs crooked, palms to the sky,
Their words lift off of the tongue and take flight to the divine.
They walk the land with the with every step in measured paces
The mark of prayer delicately, painted on their faces like calligraphy
The script with which they move like droplets that meet seamlessly
With a water’s surface delicately, producing a ripple, effortlessly
Stirring that which was still, the reverberations felt, impeccably
Their lips moistened with remembrance, every second their tongues unfurl
Their listening attuned to the signs of God in their world
They hear Him… in the rustling of leaves moved by a wind unseen
They feel Him… between the moment of sleep and the dream
They sense him… in the scent of rain before the squall
Between the flash of lightning and its thunderous call
They see Him… in the way the clouds provide cover for the exposed
And they know Him… in their inability to completely know Him, Cloaked
Their calloused hands speak of work and affliction
Despite no complaints escaping their mouths of their condition
The softness of forgiveness is seen in the deepness of their eyes
The creases in their cheeks speak of healing smiles and empathetic cries
The recorder on their right had run out of ink in his well
And on their left, there is but a book of torn pages, fell
To the ground like the water of ablution off their arms
And in this battle of the righteous they take up arms
Against themselves, they stab inward and slay their own egos
Extract the darkness of their hearts, cleansing their souls
Their chests burst forth, the result of hours of reflection
Their shoulders exhausted from carrying the weight of their mistakes, corrections
Made only to their physical form, their soul from a place of perfection
In low, hushed voices they whisper their undialed connection
With their Lord and with each other, the light of their faces hint
That no matter the shape or size of their feet, they share the same footprint
Fitting perfectly in the path that they all share behind he whose name was mercy
He who started the spark that led them to their journey
He who gave them instruction in a voice echoed 1400 years to their ears
Echoed off in the vibrations that bounced off those before them , their peers
Who set sail on the same mission
Blood, sweat and tears fell, but never blurred their vision
I speak of they who stand up with the heads peaked in pride
Against injustice and oppression, never denied
The risk or the sacrifice that came with the fight, to find
Their words like bullets found their targets in the hearts and minds
Of those who never knew, or refused to
Until their tongues carved like swords through what they were used to
Held down the fists that used to abuse them
Aim arrows that slice the whirlwind of falsehood that used to confuse them.
They who run headstrong into the enemy’s chest to embrace them
Gaze into their eyes tainted with filth and erase them,
Like stained glass they shatter houses of hate with soft tones
Make themselves humble, Crumble their own thrones
I speak of those who put their own lives up as collateral
Because living life while others suffer is incompatible
Their heartbeats burst with passion through their breasts
March on evil and demand to confront their best
And then crush them with sincere dominance and will
Destroy the heartless from within until their hearts rest and are still
I speak of they who remind each other that death is nearer than they believe
And that from the moment they were conceived
That this world was a myth and that every moment after the beauty of their birth
That despite growth upwards, they were moving closer to earth
That their graves were already dug and waiting for them to swallow
And so for every moment they breath, they fill that which is hollow
In their heart, leave no space unfilled and unoccupied
I speak of they who on the day that they lay on their beds to die
The world will shiver for them as it mourns them and yearns,
And with their last breath they will say, from Him we have come and to Him we shall return.