YEASTING THE DREAM
Sojourning through life,
we live and die---
in between, we seek triumph.
Yesterday we let our children slip
away to places of self perpetuated confusion.
Today they wander in a mindless inertia:
surfing wicked tides of self destruction.
Their chiseled stone faces
wear frozen frowns as they stand
motionless in the vortex of fleeing time---
imaging whining sheep on an altar of despair;
as they await deliverance through their fathers’ faith.
Who will become the new Abraham of our children?
Who will become the light for them to see and be
our yesterday, today and tomorrow’s eternity?
Come brethren, with the yeast of undying love,
let us kneed the evolutionary dough of our humanity;
that our children may become leavened spirits:
Raising the dream deferred;
that it not be denied its resurrected reality.
Whenever windstorms vaunt majestic force,
the elements of earth revise their face,
a flowing stream may even change its course
or yeasting agents alter claimant space.
Whenever windstorms vaunt a scouring sweep,
the earth responds with curling, naked shame
while trees and blossoms anchor down to keep
their coats from shredding in its spinner frame.
Whenever windstorms vaunt a blatant blow,
earth mother calls her creatures into play -
birds, fish and animals are pleased to stow
their strength and stand as solid, stabile clay.
Whenever windstorms vaunt tornado's turn
all nature bows and cedes before its breath.
and in its path, destruction, cold and stern,
whips past and scatters merely pain and death.
When windstorms vaunt a strident strain
to whittle down the music in our ears,
the sun comes forth and partners with the rain
to cushion sorrow, sweep away all tears.