Tags
communication, coronavirus, COVID19, death, Impeachment, pandemic, plauge, Putin, Trumpandemic, truth, wisdom
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
With space-Alien violence, people all across the world are ri
pped from their worlds and taken to those special beds.
The COVID beds.
And just as in the movie an alien presence is
forced down their throat and in their
head
Perhaps they wonder whether they
Will get a final say
Departing to those left behind
The wisdom of an old, yet un-befuddled mind.
Of, if befuddled, who’s to say
Whether older wisdom may filter through
To light a little (just a little), our path to a brighter day.
Who are the Speakers for the Dead?
What do they say?
Perhaps they whisper one and all with the self-same silence of the lambs
The lambs led to slaughter from the King-Con Man of the Cowards.
Supported by the most menial of the Blowhards.
If they have no breath,
If no-one speaks before their death,
Then,
Who are the Speakers for the Dead?
What do they say?
No-one can say.
That’s kind of the whole point, don’t you see?
Everyone is different.
Everyone learns something different.
Everyone has a piece of the puzzle laid before us growing ever larger till it will overwhelm
And when no-one will dare to grab the helm.
And so these lives go silently
Out of this life and into something else entirely.
Are we learning
Through the burning
And the yearning unfulfilled
All the turning unwilled
That we are all:
Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com
Leaves upon the Tree of Life.
The Life of the Tree
Depends upon the health of every Leaf
And every Leaf
Depends upon the Health of the entire Tree.
Is that so hard to see?
That’s it — in its entirety.
Like most trees, humanity
Must be its own gardener,
Tender,
Lover.
How can we grow and glow
Without the unspoken words of the many
Dispersed instead of our waiting ears,
The unspoken syllables slide into the bowels of a machine?
And some few recover.
We should be listening carefully to each one.
They are bringing tales from distant lands
Which we hope never to visit ourselves.
Are they, then, the Speakers for the Dead?
And what, prey, do they tell?
Or, shall we let the politicians far and wide
Whose ear-to-ear grins have never faded.
Regardless of thousands of corpses laded.
(They’re playing for the other side)
Shall we let them be
Speakers for the Dead?
No, they will not be Speakers for the Dead.
Because they cannot hear.
Because they cannot see.
Because they cannot feel.
Because they have forgotten that Truth is not “ours” or “theirs.”
Truth belongs to the Tree of Life
Not to one Leaf or Another.
Every single Leaf’s your sis or brother!
Let us sing then; sing together.
Heal the Tree wherever it’s needed.
That’s how forests are reseeded.
Photo by Felix Mittermeier on Pexels.com
Other Poems on the Web
