in the language of false gods.
there can be no healing
until you see the disease,
smell the rotting flesh….
until the souls of the invisible
gather around you, and
you take your self back in.
until the words you speak
are built on action wrapped
in the forms of compassion….
until you ask forgiveness
of the mountains, the rivers,
and the sky…. until…
you nurse the baby at
your own breasts… until
you wash your hands in
the blood of the innocents.
i am not the fire.i am not the rain,nor the sun that gave.i am not the fertile earth.i am not the human handsthat gathered, that prepared…i am not even the hand that offers.i am not the table, not the chair,i am not the spoon.when day is done,and my place is known…i am only the bowl!
dirty faced kids in the back….you could tell they’d been crying.‘you got gas money, bud?have them kids eaten? ‘….‘we’re fine… thanks for the help…’and they drove off onfifteen dollar tires…to find a new life!and it’s Christmasall over the world!
as she climbs the pathway to eternity?to be the lantern, no, just the match,just outside the door to your heart?to be the dew lying with the grass,the voices of trees whispering?the hand that takes the small child’s hand,the howl that names the wolf?the passion inside the thunder clouds,the soft prayers of the creek gurgling o’er…
who drives the nails?who stands at the footof the cross and weeps?who carried the cross?who conducted the trial?and who are the faceless oneswho stand and jeer?who judges life worth giving,and how much does love demand?will love forgive?does love have a name?who’ll bury the body?who’ll guard the tomb?and on the third day,who’ll roll away the stone?our…
and vacant buildings….through the alleyways..concrete graveyards…the hint of smoke hangsin the air…. the stain of soot,the taste of death… lingers….i closed my eyes and sawthe bodies… strewn in the streetlike trash blown against a fence…eyes wild, faces contorted, …death, and it’s brothers and sisters…storefronts dark and ominous,gas pumps stand alone like angrysores, oozing into the…
streets wet, cars passing,time turns inward, so do i…’a long slow Sunday afternoon.winter whispers, almost forgotten.spring turns the page, life begins again.we are faced with so many issues;poverty, joblessness, hunger, homelessness,wars fought for profit, the corruptionof Wall Street and big business,the oil companies raping the earth….people fighting over religions,over politics, over pieces of ground…forgetting, we…
