by Lawrence J. J. Leonard
The world is darker as the sun sinks down.
I look to Luna rising for light –
so much brightness in the dead of winter –
I can see my hand; it casts a shadow.
The pressure in my chest is lifting.
A cool breeze brushes my face and hair.
I taste the piney woods with my lungs
and my inhaling brings a taste of clean in my mouth.
Alive in Luna’s wake sit the stately suns of yesterday,
their infinite light piercing my upward southern gaze.
Small rotations of Earth cause movement across the blackness.
Orion is the constellation that beams over head.
Tonight I feel hunted by the pressures of the day,
by the demands of commercial relationships,
by the horrors of twisted criminals lurking, and
by all that is not holy.
I am exhorted by preachers to “give to G_d.”
There is no feeling of calm in that sanctuary, now.
So many disciples, prophets, and bishops ignore the decree
to ” ‘Do unto others’ as I would have done unto me.”
And yet the season will note a great alarm in every land,
but hasten me to open my wallet – not my heart –
causing me to save poor puppies and kitties.
Soon I forget it’s the Humans who are endangered no matter how old they are.
I do listen for the quiet voice of hope.
It is not in the wind or rain or thunder or flood.
It is not in the plan or mission or the hustle and bustle.
A voice is in the quiet but it is not familiar. Can you hear it, too? Peace is crying.
Copyright © 1960-2015 Lawrence J. J. Leonard All rights reserved.