Legacy

God of my fathers and my mothers and their faith,

back and back and back in the heartache and the grace.

God who walked beside them on the dense rainforest track.

Who watched them crawl through fear and mud

and saw them safely back.

God of my fathers and my mothers and their doubt,

who knew the pain of longing and heard their every shout.

God who let their friends die slowly and their children daily hurt,

who sat with them, unfelt, unseen, in cemetery dirt.

God of my family, will you hear me?

God I pushed away in the darkness of my ache,

who I turned my back on, sullen, aware what was at stake--

I know you hear the sparrows as each one hits the ground,

but that still fails to console me that you'd ever hear me now.

Is their legacy enough for me?

Will I stand or will I break?

I wait to hear your whispered voice

as I lie here, wide awake.