These are Godless times.
We write Him out of His own history,
Condemn Him for our crimes
And celebrate His mystery
As our innovation.
We are a Godless people
Who do not work the field,
But eat our bellies full
Of everything that appeals
To our wandering wisdoms
If you can see
Past parting clouds and lowered masks,
Don’t wait for the lull to pass-
Repeat forever, blow in and out,
And sever the lines of communication
A seasoned eye discerns
A word rightly spoken
Can lift the fog of interaction
And expectation to wind;
To see what’s broken
Is to mend.
Hope is the flower that never blooms
Relentless rain drenches the roots,
Thick stalks reach the heavens
While leaves unfurl and flute
The petals wait in a fetal cocoon.
Pluck it, or tend it, anticipate
In a breathless storm
Defending the defenseless
Awaiting the vivid and worn
To bloom, to justify the eternal wait.