Joining The Chorus

…a prayer that he sends from his heart’s deep core,   
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings—
I know why the caged bird sings! ~ Paul Laurence Dunbar

Tell me more about
fortuitous blessings that arrive
after my diligent practice.
The number-crunchers assert
the planet won’t bear my weighty
insistence on posh digs
with my kind, careless
poisoned carnival-goers
making merry
while the bodies writhe,
the bonfires blaze.
And so I sit.
Center inside
and still
I crave assurance
that the miracle can arise
like breath
or fog on the cool dawn lake.
The atrocities reverberate
down the generations
bomb-blasting our present
ears stunned by this tone-
deaf assault.  In our knee jerk
reflex, we stand, speak
to the smirks and sneers.
Listen, we beg, and try
to chop the slippery
truth into bite-sized pieces,
now frantic in their swift
sweep under the rug.
How do our voices hold
the whole notes with these
hands covering our mouths?
Locked in the dark room,
the air sirens silenced,
the blitzkrieg so relentless
warnings are no longer
needed.  We know.
Together, holding hands
with every wretched being,
the bleeding wounded and
the sword-wielding
in the darkness, our inner fire
smoldering
questing,
holding this space,
and where, oh, god,
where is the grace?

Inspired by:  carnival, smirk, slippery, fortuitous, posh, number

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Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

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