Being A Witness

Concerns sit out there on the periphery, the suffering and misery of wars, deaths by disasters be it by natural or human causes, the reckless diminution of forests - all creep like shadows across the face of the earth. What can I do but be a witness and add a frail voice to a powerless chorus calling out from under the heel of wealth and might - to be labelled a soft centered dreamer of dreams long abandoned in favor of the more popular cult of the self's omniscience. I find a place somewhere in the stillness of an evening and thought by thought, try to dismantle the pretenses of who I am and in that cleared arena invite the good to speak and make room for the cries of the afflicted to rise up from out of the earth. I do not know whether their voices will be heard or, like sounds carried on the winds, slowly exhaust and disperse into the distances of an evening and the greater universe