Rhythms

by Lori Hershberger

Let these days carve within me grooves where Your
voice slips through, humming. May each day that comes
limping through loss, bearing a thousand tiny
sorrows, march slowly to their distant drums
and carry me, so when hope is deferred
I may rest in the cadence of the day.
It is not love’s great griefs that batter me
but the little losses heaping high, that stray
murmuring into the hours, that mute my
voice. And though my voice is muted, I will
pluck the strings of hope to the beat of each
hour, until joy again slips in to thrill,
almost unheard in the rhythm of the infinite
heartbeat yearning gently over a frantic world.

Lori Hershberger lives in Mae Hong Son Province, Thailand, where she teaches EFL and dreams of traveling across the Salawin River into Burma. You can find her book, Dustbeams, on Amazon.

Photography by Kenneth Godoy