Flickering flames
in the dark disconnect,
we hold to the good
tenacious as infants;

with so much undone
in the downward spiral
we cling like grass
to serenity and the grace
of this miraculous life.

We’ll not speak of fighting,
not in this holy hour.
Curious as birds we look
to what may yet be,
casting our lot
with the eternal.

 

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7 Responses

  1. Perfect expression in this moment of the cycle. As the cracks in the dam begin to roar as thunder, let us remain attuned to the chant of Om Mani Padme Hum, the song of life. Thank you, Don.

  2. For me, my “lot” is a subatomic portion of the Eternal. Thx for your reflection Don.

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