Greys, Part Vi

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.