Something Has Changed

Something has changed

it’s in the air we breathe

showing in conversation

of shoulders weighed down

by the pressure of it all.

Distress and confusion

a fear of the unseeable

nature holds its breath

as cold November winds

drive the dry, lifeless leaves

across the barren streets.

I long to make sense

of what I see all around

of a noise barely heard

amongst the crowds

jostling on the city streets

living lives in isolation

hiding in suburban bubbles

thinking they are safe

from the approaching storm.

My voice is too small

to cut through the discord

of fearful human hearts,

yet, I must still try

to stand above the fray

speaking truth in love

of grace and peace

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Grace on the Streets

I watch as he crosses the street

hunched over pushing the cart

the small wheels wobble along

under the weight of his life

gathered in green plastic bags.

His clothes are tattered and worn

gray strands of hair fall loosely

under the blue woolen cap.

There but for the grace of God

but is God’s grace so capricious 

doled out like food at the shelter

a spoonful of cold mashed potato

only so much is granted, it’s precious

and not to be wasted or used foolishly.

Yet, there he goes a smile on his face

as he wanders into his future

grace for him a pushcart piled high

with large green trash bags

and small, wobbly wheels.

The Void

Within the emptiness

that deep void

where light and sound

are muffled and blocked

is where I reside

in the present moment.

The words are many

that revolve around

the moonscape 

that I sense lays out there.

I reach in to grasp

but come out empty handed

unable to fully come to terms

as logical people do.

I’m not that logical

my mind lives in a fog

a flurry of words

mixed with deep feelings.

Love, is my only recourse

yet even that seems lost

in the diatribe raining down

flooding my deepest senses.

I write in this emptiness

as the fog surrounds me

and hope the words suffice

to bring healing to my heart

in the silence of my soul.

This Morning I Awoke

This morning I awoke

to the sound of birds

to the rustle of wind

blowing dry, lifeless leaves.

I awoke, breathing the air

walking the dog

watching as the sun rose.

The late autumn trees

with leaves of brown and gold

shone like burnished bronze

reflecting the the suns light.

This morning I awoke

and walked along familiar paths

and watched the sun slowly rise

knowing all had changed

and yet remained the same.

This morning I awoke.

Post Convention Blues

Life is transitory,

a temporary moment

a slight breath on the wind

that in an instant, is gone.

We sit together

wringing our hands

and gnashing teeth,

speaking of hope

as the darkness settles.

Maybe if we choose

the right words

or pray the right prayer.

Another amendment,

another resolution.

Will we find our answer

in constant debate?

Trust is hard

it’s not in our nature

to give up illusions

we have nurtured.

Faith demands surrender

to all that holds our hearts

in the glamour and glitter

of the false prophets

that sing the siren song.

Crossing the foggy river

trusting the unseen pilot

the tiller out of our hands

searching for that true light.