Stare Into the Whrilwind

 

Aging eyes, veneered in thin cataracts, water in the twilight,

Warm tears summoned by wind, weariness, grief, and shame,

Anguished fragility, furies at the powers, divine or diabolic,

Hoarse throated from imprecations--prayers, uttered vitriolic, 

As Job, rending spirit, resigned --yet raging, broken, and lame,

Yet into the wind, the bloody whirlwind, not averting his sight.

Stare into the whirlwind,

In the solidarity of chagrin,

In audacity raise your chin,

Steel-nerves, harden your skin.

In these days, body and spirit, dissipate as clouds in thermals,

A witness to the mass murdered in a land of distracted deniers,

Anguished fragility, wailing in turn at the altar or in the square,

From matins to vespers, in wordless sounds of groaning prayer.

This Mass of broken bodies, seas of blood need answer either,

To the iron straw superman or to the grace of the supernatural.

Stare into the whirlwind,

In the solidarity of chagrin,

Let the Spirit quell the din,

'Til the day, of new wineskins.

Stare into the whirlwind.

And breathe it in,

Breathe it in,