Who?

Oh world you are so

much with me death

bangs on so many

doors the famous

and our loved ones

scarring us with

their sucides we

are assaulted by

the men in office

bought and sold

and so self-deceived

many believe they

are righteous

are we ourselves able

to hear truth through

the racing car engines

and clattering keyboards

 

i lie in bed at

night listening

my inner voice

instructs me to be quiet

listening more peaceful

than the urge to

correct the world

with words

 

i hear my own whisper

with the wind of some

unchanging wisdom

long for a clear path

but wait without a map

my companions sometimes

find me, some are always

true and in the listen they

teach me… my words then

become answered prayer

 

who calls us in the thunder

who names us in battle

who gives this tiny voice

who lives and dies beside us

who are we here standing

deep in the muck and rock

who can we claim as ours

who but this mess of humans

surrounded by our whales and trees

moved so easily by spirit if we are listening

 

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