The Harried Mystic

α

the Earth has no compassion: shaking grounds, rushing floods, and fires mourn no losses,

so another week thus passes on our fragile vessel, tears of paper tossed by monstrous forces;

now to picking up the pieces, burying children, moms and dads, all numbing sorrow and lamentation,

we, the conscience of nature, her soul, her mind, her mortal consolation.

β

grim news, dark times, and sickening scenes of death to brothers in the road,

how can such things happen, to the homeless poor, the desperate, already bearing such a heavy load;

our broken hearts and eyes scarred by all the bloody views mean nothing, add no solace, serve no good,

rise up troubled hearts, stand tall in the face of misery, do all for medicine, water and food!

Ω

my brothers and sisters are dead and dying. Oh Lord, what more can I do?

[ A poem dedicated to the Haitian people in this their time of tragedy and recovery. May they find consolation, well-being, and renewal.]

© Brother Anton and The Harried Mystic, 2009. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.