This poem came through to me and I felt it would be apt if I shared it… My thanks go to Mr Wednesday for allowing me to be the vessel.
Time to delve deeper into yourself; take note of the sights as you pass through; Look up to the sky and hear the crows caw; without and within, both shall begin.
With time, all may heal; yet, through pain do we learn and feel; As we wander, searching and seeking for the divine; may we yet feel the feeling of the benign.
We can choose not to share, we can choose to hide away; much like the rabbit that takes cover at end of day;
Yet, we as mankind should pool our gifts, so that we may give refuge to the souls cast adrift.
When you cast your net far in the hope of the catch, you may find what you seek, or you may reel in a stray; you already have the answers within you, it’s time to exude, not time to play.
A furnace may burn for hours at a time, yet all fires may dwindle when starved of air or fuel;
So too must we pool ourselves…sit, be still, still enough to hear, for the cosmos yet murmurs should you choose not to fear.
As a vixen fights tooth and nail for her offspring, acting as a shield, it’s life or it’s death: the moment is pure; so uncluttered, so uncomplicated, no distraction or wayward thinking;
So the parable is a metaphor for our divine destiny to hear our fatherly rallying cry; stop looking at the ground, look up to the sky!
What is help? Help so freely given at a certain time of year, as our decorations twinkle and our hearts are gladdened with cheer;
Yet with the concept of time can this be rendered asunder, no time to shelter the weak from the rain, never mind from the thunder;
Why then do we go on bearing gifts of hypocrisy? When we so freely give up the gift of democracy….
For fear is the black cloud that’s supposed to blight all, but why should we watch our fellow man fall?
“It’s survival of the fittest”, they say, as they clamour for blood; but it’s man’s dignity that’s trampled in the wet, boggy mud;
If you lent a hand with the purest of hearts, if you meant what you said and your word proved to be true…
You could yet look into the eye of the helpless soul, bereft, grief-stricken and oh so blue.
If that were your brother, your sister, your kin…where would the judgement stop? Would it even begin?
“All men are born equal”, they said, and they built their statues upon high; yet, we, the common folk, must endeavour to fly;
For “Manners maketh man”, they said, and a smile is free; it may scare a few people, even you or even me.
So why then should we take part in this global revolution? What’s it to do with me? Where is the solution? The eyes have been opened and the minds have woke; as the clouds part in the sky and phoenix arises from the smoke;
We are brothers and sisters and animals alike; may the wolves yet howl and the gulls yet cry;
We take the hand of the next man, the next woman and next soul; we break off the shackles, we break bread, we are made whole;
A rambling is oft ignored as an old man’s grumble, yet through these words may one stomach yet rumble;
A rumbling for the heavens, not for food or drink; a yearning for nourishment, so that the eyes may yet blink.
I reached down into the darkness, yet it was never meant to be my dwelling; I walked into the light, my eyes watering, my heart swelling;
I choose love over fear; I choose the tree over the machine; there is so much knowledge and wisdom for us to yet glean.
What difference can you make? Well, that answer lies within you… for you have the blessing bestowed - so strong and so true;
The first step is the hardest, can WE ask for a clue? Yet that’s what WE must take, and that’s what WE must do.
Kommentare