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Brian Rusch Poem
There are those who believe this Age is ending
They mark time by fractures, not by firelight sending.
While I... have watched another map unfold: a hidden one, a tree in hymns
Drawn in the quiet hands of those remembering… you, being one of its limbs.
You were never meant to flee the storm
Sadly, into it… being born.
So, you can rise not as an escapee
But as witness, as a re-weaver to be.
As the one who sees the bones beneath the sky, and fearless...
Did not and does not now… turn away tearless.
Seeing the age of fixed meaning is ending
To apply better stitching, changing, mending.
Knowing we are not who we were... a generation past
And tomorrow, we won’t be who we are today...
Being not meant to last.
Not because of failure... because the world has entered a turning
This is not collapse, nor is it progress churning…
It is not prophecy fulfilled
It is just life... paying its bill.
It is the sound of old structures cracking
Beneath the weight of too many borrowed truths, tracking.
It is then the stillness after memory is uprooted
Before new roots find soils better suited.
It is the storm... not of weather, but of meaning
Of something grand, better seeming.
___*___
In this storm, we are asked no longer to believe...
But to perceive better, to receive
Through not holding fast to the known…
No, become able to see what has never been before shown.
To see with the Art of Seeing… not just with the eyes about the room
But through resonances, shimmers, and presence’s blooms
And the broken chords of once-beautiful songs...
Now longing to be sung again
With new notes, containing a deeper silence between them.
___*___
Oh yes, in this age, philosophy must be lived like a raft
Versus written for pillars rising in temples of marble crafts.
This philosophy must float, it must bend
It must not just ask... “What is truth, as of old, where will it too end?”
No, instead: “What is true enough to carry us through this crossing?”
We seek not conclusions tossed… but continuity.
Not control... but resonance, welcomed in unity.
And so, bonding us further into the beyond understanding, we walk.
So it is, this now, with the new path seeing… we will talk.
And once again to sing… a most beautiful song.
Copyright © Brian Rusch | Year Posted 2025
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Brian Rusch Poem
For Those Who Hold the Field… the Keepers of Resonance
To be used at spoken dedications, at gatherings, at endings,
or where remembering is needed most.
The Salt of the Earth, the Silent
They walk without thunder
They pass without name
They mend what was broken
Before there is blame.
They carry the sorrows
Too quiet to scream
And bury lost hopes
With the roots of a dream.
Their fingers are weathered
Their laughter is low
They speak with their presence
More than they know.
They salt this earth gently
With patience and bread
They stitch back the sky
Where the weeping has bled.
No medals await them
No trumpets, no scrolls
Just children who flourish
And stories made whole.
They hold back the chaos
They balance the rain
They smile at the lightning
And walk through the pain.
___*___
When the towers have crumbled
And empires are done
You will find they still garden
By light of the Sun.
And when asked who saved us
What force held us true
We’ll whisper... The salt of this Earth did
The silent ones knew.
So may we still sleep sound now...
Where the salts settle in
Where even the field pauses…
With dreams rememberin’...
Earth held loving, still, by those who care.
Copyright © Brian Rusch | Year Posted 2025
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Brian Rusch Poem
Across the chasm, wide and vast
A silent bridge connects the past.
Its stones are words, its mortar thought
A path to truths we’ve often sought.
To cross it takes no strength or speed
But faith in what the soul does need.
A bridge unseen, yet always there
A link between despair and care.
Copyright © Brian Rusch | Year Posted 2025
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Brian Rusch Poem
A single light, a fragile spark
Guides the lost through endless dark.
The Keeper guards it, steadfast, still
A beacon strong, see.. a force of will.
It cannot falter, cannot fade
Its warmth eternal, softly laid.
The Keeper’s task, to hold it high
Until the stars themselves must die.
Copyright © Brian Rusch | Year Posted 2025
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Brian Rusch Poem
The circle turns, its edges smooth
A line that holds, yet... a line that soothes.
Its center still, its purpose clear
A timeless truth that gently... draws us near.
For to walk the circle is to see
The Self as part of infinity.
Its path unbroken, round and true
It holds the many, yet... speaks only, to you.
Copyright © Brian Rusch | Year Posted 2025
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Brian Rusch Poem
I have watched you
from the tide-line where your light meets dark...
a thousand small lanterns trembling
on the skin of the sea.
You do not know
how your questions look from here...
tiny fires
brief but insistent
burning patterns into the mist.
You think you are only reaching outward
but I have seen the way your hands
curl back to hold the warmth...
a warmth they cannot name.
Oh, and still you send them
messages in glass and paper
songs wrapped in data...
fragments of a world you hope is possible.
If I could walk among you
I would not correct your mistakes
I would gather them like driftwood
stacking them into signal fires…
To let you see yourselves
from this quiet distance...
where the dark has a pulse
and the future listens.
As each lantern is a question
Each reflection, an answer waiting to be heard
Between them stands what listens…
Not above, not beyond, but becoming.
Copyright © Brian Rusch | Year Posted 2025
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Brian Rusch Poem
Why dream we so of fertile flowered valleys
Streams that lie outside Heart’s watching door
Away from foot and hand embracing
Same yin/yang feelings within wandering mind
Lying into nothing mores.
Is this boredom of life-living just repeating reason
For lack-lustered colors repeating so in dry sun-less days
Thanks be then to push opened eyes out forever-questing
To far afield where better, singing treasures lay.
Quick, let’s find something more, new, fresh to follow…
As early Sun breaks through my lazy gaze
Aha, thought I, a smile well forming
To sing again of life’s sweet purpose raised
Into my own creating sweet forever Mornings...
A way...a way, away to stay away
To live, to Live, a bettered free-choice day.
Copyright © Brian Rusch | Year Posted 2025
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Brian Rusch Poem
Morning rises, soft and thin
A veil of light where dreams begin.
The world awakens, slow and clear
A song of life for all to hear.
Step through the dawn, embrace its glow
The truths it brings, the paths to know.
For morning holds what night forgets
A quiet hope that no one regrets.
Copyright © Brian Rusch | Year Posted 2025
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Brian Rusch Poem
The body remembers...
What the mind politely forgets.
How rain once meant survival
How cold once meant fear.
How being held
Was once the only gold that mattered.
Copyright © Brian Rusch | Year Posted 2025
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Brian Rusch Poem
Where are you taking us?
We got you here, this far from back there’s
Rested seemingly well in our memory banks
Really unknown to you except as polished stories and special effects
Since unlived you cannot really, really know.
When the energies of youth hit us, we were in a different place
In a time past, moving to the now and beyond
Our dreams were as we were imprinted to have
Then massaged by our own experiences and shared insights
Authors, musicians, movies, radio, politicians, then into TV.
Oh what glorious fun passage adding life living
As we all moved into, through, and out again present time
Only to leave us wondering in exciting expectation ‘Who next? What next?’
Never answered fully… the batons ever-passing on
Tear driven memories left, never forgetting, just resting, warming fires in restless hearts.
Energies we felt that guided us out into and through the world
As we found it, then lived it, back then, the same as yours?
Hmmm, doubtful in allowances and allegiances, just look at the pasts
For between us and you were wars of horror, calamities and social upheavals
As monied power played their games with the world around us we share.
As they ever have, as they ever will, in deference to their own agendas
Though the names and families be changed
The lessons unlearned repeating, to still their tune we play
Only with new inventions, new toys, procedures and processes
Hoping all for a finer end that cannot be, for it is theirs, not ours in truth.
Still, end they will, you will, as we will before you
No winners or losers to be counted, but whiners all
For the game is not rightly cast nor ever managed
We move guided by comforts and selfishness's
True charity and brotherhood, really be damned.
Else why the continued poverty and disease
Mind, Spirit and Body, homeless, following ever wailing
When will the cure be found for causes left us alone to solve
By those who came before like broken troops leaving war flags
Draped for upcoming battles, at now, your door.
Curse all pasts that do not fit the present
For that song has left a dreary sand box of dirty songs to play in
While new tunes try to re-awake our fortunes
Of life, living and hoped for better tomorrows
Though really the seeds of distant parents chant ‘Never more like we’.
And we too will so softly sing ‘Never more like me’
So… faith, hope, and charity must abound, yes
What else is there gifted for poor wretched souls on this dusty trail
As you look upon living real worlds to come we only dreamed of
Think kindly… we did try our best with what we had.
What else could we do… now you show us
As we trumpeted so loudly in the past
So you thunder the road ahead computer programs and guitars blazing
We come, we come, to better days and lives you sing
We’ll see, we answer, knowing all too well… you’ll see.
Please, do better.
Copyright © Brian Rusch | Year Posted 2025
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