This is not my sermon for Sunday! Before I could summon the strength to open my heart and my bible in preparation to preach, I had to dig out the despair that has been growing in my soul ever since an early premonition that Donald Trump would win this election. Poets will find here mixed metaphors that I don't have time to smooth out .... but I do know that they are there! :-)
So for those of you who need to wallow just a bit longer, here's the Bad News. The Good News will follow later:
The snow has
been falling
for quite a while
now,
frozen ash
from belching
chimneys, and
burning
towers, and sobbing
crematoriums
covering
a landscape sharp
and broken
as our
frozen, fear-gloved
fists begin
to dig and root,
scooping, scraping,
piling,
pushing a snowball
like a
frantic Sisyphus
on a mission,
looking over
our shoulders
for an enemy
and building
a monument
to hate,
surprised
when it begins
to roll
back, faster
and larger
until we
cannot stop it
yet I stand
at the cliff’s
edge with my
icy idle
hands and gape
as it lurches
beyond my
control
spewing scraps
of destruction
like blind
wheel-spokes
that cut
away the ground.
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