Hello all, sorry there hasn’t been a post in a while, I try to post new stuff every other day, lately life has been busy throwing one thing after another our way. Lots of stress and my poetry usually helps as an outlet but I haven’t had time for it and my mind has been elsewhere. I will resume as soon as I am able to.
Thank you for your continued following and support.
The shaking out of broken glass
Tangled in the tapestry,
Making dangerous the grass
Needed by so many.
When the task is done, is it worth
The unnecessary holes created?
Or does this speak a different tone:
Of corruption unabated?
What’s left to hang can be repaired,
One wonders why it’s necessary.
When such glass could have been prepared
And removed appropriately.
Basically the state of things in the world today. Not calling people cows by using grass as a reference to a necessity of life, just making a point that those on the bottom of the food chain (the average person) feel, and often have to live with longer, the effects of the drastic measures taken by those in power when the tapestry (the world) is cleansed.
In came the wind today.
It took her heart so far away,
She didn’t fight, she let it fly.
So many reasons, she could’ve cried.
As before the wind, grass would yield,
She was the same and saw no appeal,
To impersonate an oak, and meet the same end
As the grass, but with a more violent bend.
Then having fallen and no one heard,
She says lamenting:
“Joy is made sorrow and the lonely burn.
All is made nothing. Our lives so short.
Where is the Watchman, sitting high in His fort?”
In her silence, on the wind, an answer she hears.
“This is why your heart disappeared:
You had no patience for the storm,
You knew not its true form.
All is made nothing, and sorrow to joy,
But again there is something! There is more I employ.
Stand rise again! You will conquer I ensure,
The storm is nothing, you have the strength to endure.
The only oaks that fall to the wind, all have rotten roots
Grasses may not fall, but they accomplish nothing expect for becoming soot.”
She arose and stood again, knowing fully where to stand.
Then on the narrow path, for her first few steps,
She held the Masters hand.
Posted in Rise Above
Tagged joy, lonely, Master, path, poetry, rise, sorrow, storm, tower, Watchman, wind
Side of a mountain,
One with evidence of battles.
Earth fought the cosmos.