"There's not much doubt in any of our minds that no complete idea springs fully formed from our brow,
needing only a handshake and a signature on the contract to send it off into the world to make twenty-five billion dollars.
The germ of the idea grows slowly..." - Walt Kelly

Thursday, April 3, 2014

War is over

Day Three: Skipping the prompt - writing what came to me this morning.

It's the obstinance of a few that has brought us this far,
trapped between a reprehensible past and a bright future.

They've moved us to tears, those few, and our saltwater
mixes with the seas at our feet, a grand disappearance

and an even greater absence - each drop a great singularity.
There is a battle light that emanates from those living,

a signal to the stars that we are still here and improving,
reasons to spare us from the inevitable apocalypse.

Any who pray have found their solace here, at night,
draped in the comfort of the still air and the emptiness,

meanings bountiful in the occasional outburst of a cricket
or the delayed reaction of some far-off thundercloud.

And the rest? They, too, know peace - no longer
do they waver in their endorsement of the divine,

because now the divine is everywhere - because now,
the divine needs not be prayed to. Now the divine is real.

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
White Denim, At Night In Dreams

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