“I touch God in my song as the hill touches
the faraway sea with its waterfall.”
Rabindranath Tagore
When injustice tangles the
lifeline of infant hopes,
I awaken to the ordinary
and suddenly leaves
are angelic feathers.
In the vaulted dreamworld
of the midnight sky
doubt is a stranger
I only knew in passing,
and in meadows of clouds
galloping across paradise
the mind and the rainwashed
air are one,
The wind, a living thing now,
I want to know personally;
It’s a door to the spirit land
I can almost pass through.
Almost.
I can’t quite touch the secrets
but I can sip unearthly nectar
while touring forests that
smell of feverish activity:
Life is the common thread throughout.
At the bottom of a naive
sky injustice shrinks to
a faintly buzzing pest,
Rage, to a waste of limited strength
in a limited life.
Stopping by the lake that spits
out light in torrents
I wonder if it’s wise to pray--
Should I just worship in a better way?
That way I learn from silence,
rather than my own words
which teach me little.
And if He wrote this epic
Of birth and death and mystery in between
then who am I to bark out noise
that muddles its wisdom
or wail about codes I cannot decipher
with cells built only for one life?
I’ll stay silent, yes,
and stare and please Him
with my wonder
till the earth
is small again--
a cluster of jewel tones
and souls
sharing the vastness,
so clear from this
point of view.
© Patricia Joan Jones
This poem received the Guiding Light Award
at The Golden Quill Poetry forum.
To read more of my work, go to:
~Spirit Chimes~
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