If all we can sound are tears,
then let us weep.
If all we can say is no,
then let us shout it out.
If all we can do is weep and shout
and then walk on the other side of the road,
let us hang our heads in shame
for we are no better than the
traffickers, thieves and jingoists.
If …this ….is …so,
then let us make an altar of bracken,
lay ourselves upon it, offer up
our lives for theirs……
a body,
…. upon a flaming pyre of shame.
When I weep,
don’t feel you
have to wipe away
these salty tears.
Being formed by
experiences of Life,
they turn to ctystal drops
as they fall from my eyes,
then I can see.
What gifts are these my friends,
what gifts indeed………
Weeping Silver
Today I saw with my own eyes,
absurd, nauseating disgrace of the lopping
of splendidly healthy branches.
So tall, such magnificence of this Silver Birch
at 68 along the street, weeping pools of rising sap.
It is weeping I tell you
and cannot be stopped…
Can we be stopped, we who create carnage?
I weep for Birch and Beasts
and the Waking Up of us all.
I ask my heart –
“what do you feel?”
My heart replies –
“I feel great sadness
that I asked to be
taken seriously so often
yet you were always too busy
in your head –
What do YOU feel?”
I then say to my heart –
“I don’t know how to feel
as I have spent so much of my life
not listening to you when you tried
so very hard to teach me.”
“It’s never too late” says my heart
“but listen now, I beg you –
for I weep on your behalf,
whether you feel it or not.”
“I know.” says I, “I know.”
BubblingWordClouds 