The morning air scented with promised rain
fresh and cool, still a lament, past refrain
teased by a breeze regrets arise, a train
of thought. The anchored feeling like a stain
the past wraps you in fierce insistence
propagandized military persistence
deaf to nature, unreached by common sense
still I touch you vis-à-vis heart presence
We are ripples of our awakening
in our connected sea forsaking
habit and beliefs that long held sway, taking
sanity away, grave mistakening
until I pause to embrace what is now.
The past, enslaved and yoked to fear–a bough
heavily laden then released and how
we sing in joy coherent in the Tao.
Happy Father’s Day to all the loving men who nurture with heart.