Email Poem

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Poem

When the world was quiet 
and life moved with grace,
time measured by seasons 
and years instead of minutes,
and people saw the world as 
close by, with foreign lands 
far away, another universe, 
not quite real, not quite true--
then the mind could rest,
enjoy the simple pleasures
of family and friends and old
neighbors to share old tales....

Life was taken slowly then,
no faster than a carriage ride,
and evil belonged mainly in 
crusty books of ancient times.
There was no rancor, no bile
stirred by relentlessly biting
news that chews at the soul
like the devil's own pitchfork.
There was no magic screen 
to capture you slave-like and 
bound for barren lands filled
with children starving, babes
dying before they walked, and
War and Disease and Death all
coming through an open door.

Once we trod the earth unshod
and breathed the virgin air and 
sang love songs to God in heaven
and saw others as brothers, some
lost, others newly found, all to be
welcome, all to be heard and seen.
Now we see the other as less than,
as missing our noble sweetness--
sure we have found the truth and
those who do not march alongside,
must march against us-- we need
no god to be on our side to know 
what must be done for justice....

A poet like Emily could write in 
peace though a terrible slaughter
raged far away, its madness slow 
to reach her ears, giving her time
to let it sweep her untamed soul.
But she could not breathe today,
her spirit smothered by the loss 
of distance and time and mercy.

When the world was quiet
and life moved with grace,
we had a sense of ourselves,
our footing in this world,
our dreams of the next....

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