Contentment's Folly

© 2001 Ondrea Walmsley
All rights reserved.

To be content
is to assume the sea's
currents will cease.
Though if that happen
the sky of cloudy premonition
ventures outside of our rain
and old wise fishermen are exiled.

It would be a time when a void
fills needy souls
with a humid stringy anger
thick with disdain,
stagnant from pomp and circumstance,
where no faith survives.

Oh powerful incantations, hail!
Exorcise this sadness by rite.
Let me find the faith to see beyond!

For all humanity moves in spiritual currents
invisible as it is. We know joy and pain defines us.
Sticky our thoughts, perverse at times,
cursed through a world created by
the manifestation of past hurts
clinging to a hope for something better,
yet anchored down by the spoils of war.

We are the manifestation of humanity's dreams
where unrepentance and fear is
burned by crusaders' torches,
and the fingers of karma's ashes
brand diversity across our brow.
Petulance becomes our namesake.
defiant we march with placards in protest
demanding expiation of our sins.
As old as revelation itself,
bent from the exhaustion of denial,
the tree of life survives,
grasping the edge of reality's precipice
in the rain where faith takes hold.
Pebbles cling under it's roots
and by serendipity released

one

by

one

to the infinite realm of
false analysis,
it's inky oppressive air
swallows whole each and every
pebble of our history.
Again we are refreshed
with a second chance.
The tree survives
the discontent of life's currents
and this perilous sky of our souls.

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