On the Tail Winds of Dreams
On The Tail Winds of Dreams…
(Apropos Strong Men…)
The day stops. Night begins.
The cocooned dream hangs lazily
On the leaf to time. The veiled goddess
Justice remains oblivious; her skewed scales mimicking
A faked balance. The dream dreams back at us
a Mona Lisa smile teasing the realities of our beings:
zip-lining through winds of change:
Blowing over cob webbed roads we once marched down.
Old warriors sing silent songs (a mute chorus)
Pondering the deed yet undone; the children wander
But can not remember Zion; and we can not teach experience:
(Neither defeat nor victory.)
Though the tree of hope sheds her falling leaves,
In the spring tide of resurrection, they shall overcome;
And the cocooned womb shall birth forth a new freedom
No longer veiled in allegory; a plumb line shall be in our midst.
(Shall we question the Word? Who dares?)
The dream beacons. If memory could speak, I would cry;
Stone sheds no tears. Let Lincoln sit in his motionless chair;
As for me, I shall rise and cross many more meandering rivers:
The spirit of Martin and Malcolm being the wind in my sail.
(“And The Strong Men Just Keep Coming On…”)
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