Small

I want to feel small against the dark night sky,
who shrouds our eyes from seeing far away,
Against frothing, raging oceans I want to cry,
When our lives are sheltered safe in calmest bay.

Up on fern filled heathered fells,
Where no signposts demand our steps,
Freedom lives to tell its story,
With rain soaked words and winded gale.

Against dusks of pink summer and skree sided
mountain, Tryfan stands bare. Weathered by time;
She overshadows with glad tidings of mortality,
Which smoothed pixels can never resolve.

Nature’s threatre bids us to mystic silence,
Where life is not haunted by death and we rest,
Not safe. With no smoothed council pavements,
Nor pounding clocks stealing our time.

By these beanstalks Jack ascends,
To heights of heaven and stature of giant,
Until even kneeling, our towers overtake
That small, broken God on oaken tree.

I want to feel small before that hill,
Which housed my Lord and finds him still,
Arms outstretched by love’s final call,
To us the giants walking proud and tall.