Email Poem

Your IP Address: 18.219.194.82

Your Email Address:

To Email Address:

Subject

Personal Note:

Poem Title:

Poem

Greys, Part VI

Each day we wake a little changed, 
But the Force that rests Unmoving
At the center of our turbulent souls
Remains, as ever, the sane,

In the end, love for one another,
For our kind
Must become the final, only Sacrament
We offer for salvation from ourselves
Love, such as we feel for our children
For its own sake,  no other. 
We must come to feel this,
Or be content to perish.

Meantime the world awaits the outcome
Of our slow deliberations.
Turns and turns
Biding time, progressing as ever
In its neverending fermentation of the dead,
Its transfiguration of form into non-form
Then back again
Biding time, awaiting the fruition of our thoughts.

To be alive is to have desires
To be aware is to be confused
As to the best way to obtain desire and confusion
Know that to be human is to embrace the uncertain,
To stare boldly into the fields of grey
And try to discern the shapes, the subtleties
The Substance and the Structure
That lay the foundations of our dreams.

So we look back into ourselves in reflective moments
To see all the parts of our souls
That lay nearest the naked Truth
Immersed in the mist of the Shade not hopeless,
But somber, 
Floating part by disjointed part,
Drifting in fragmentary association
Suspended in the rainsky color
The color of doubt.

In the end, all will be well,
In the end we will all learn to listen
To voices in the rain and windy sighings,
To the language that the Earth speaks to its children,
The tones vague and soothing, that address the spirit,
The susurrus of life in decay and generation,
Balanced like daylight and nightdark 
On the edges of space
When we listen like children to the song of their Mother:
All will be well, deep in the midst of the grey.

CAPTCHA Preview

Type the characters you see in the picture

Required