Place of Refuge

Place of Refuge

17 April 2011

Howwwl


The night wind howls 
around my house,
and I - like one entombed
in the lungs of that howling man -
cannot sleep.

For eight hours, then,
I lie and shivver,
hearing every last shudder and splinter
of the wind and the wood.

The moan of the elements
becomes my own moaning;
the power and force of it
rattling my house,
my power,
and yet I know it can engulf
and destroy
me and all I own,
reclaim me to the yawing soul
of the abyss.



Morning comes,
radio on,
I learn 

April showers used to bring 
May flowers,
this year they bring
just the cold of the tomb.

Then the story on the radio changes,
and we're back
to the same old bickerings in the U.S. Senate,
the same old wars and revolutions,
humanity navelgazing --

How deaf we are to the voice of our mother,
begging us, pleading us
to pay heed to each other.




May this week pass peacefully.

3 comments:

Billy Joe said...

So true. When humanity has awakened to catastrophe, the best in us has often come to the forefront. The Buddha said, "Awake, awake." May we awaken before greater catastrophe and sorrow come.

"ye walk on My earth complacent and self-satisfied, heedless that My earth is weary of you and everything within it shunneth you." --Bahá'u'lláh

Enjoyed,
Billy

Debra She Who Seeks said...

How deaf indeed.

michael- said...

beautiful! Bravo!