It isn’t hard to prophesy doom and galloping
gloom from an easy chair or a prison cell,
when we delight in digging into trenches
of opinions and weigh in with bombs,
while profits are purloined and people
pushed to the precipices.
‘It will all end in tears,’ trivially trips
off tongues, and falls on the deaf eardrums
of determined individuals who want nothing
more than to pretend their way is perfect.
Proper prophecy is of the light that breaks
through dark clouds and sows the hatred and
doubt with forgiveness and love. A light that
illuminates the darkest hour with hope.
Luminosity that binds the broken hearted
and lifts the depressed in loving arms
stills the savagest breast while holding
the cherished child in an embrace of joy.
Joy at the little things, animals, butterflies
as well as the elephants, forests and oceans,
all things that only love can liberally flow and
live in them freeing and filling, so
that their loveliness grows and grows.