After the Battle

It was a mercy Father died
quickly, released from pain of wounds
never healed. I hid and watched
the Lamanites celebrate all night.
Without an outward enemy,
they would soon turn on each other.
Finding no peace in the land,
I bore my burden north for miles
and miles alone.

Let me start again. Please don’t
condemn my strange, imperfect words.
It’s been so long since I spoke
to anyone who wasn’t a ghost.
But I have seen what you will do—
acting history from a worn-out script,
ignoring my whispered prompts
from the wings. I cry louder and louder

till I wake. Life passes away
like a dream as I mourn out my days.
Tomorrow I will rest from travel awhile
and write to you a little more.









Inspired by the Come, Follow Me readings for November 2-8

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