Poetry

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Despair…the absence of all hope.
How does one find themselves in such a state?
How is it possible to see the sun rise and set,
To watch two goldfinches
Chase each other around a birdfeeder,
To hear a child laugh or a baby cry,
To receive an unsolicited smile or
An undeserved kindness from a stranger,
And still find room to despair?

How is it possible to watch an elderly couple
Slowly hobbling down the street,
Yet still holding each other’s hands
With the strength of much younger lovers,
To hear the beauty of the first bird song of the morning
Before it becomes a chorus,
To hear the last one of the evening
Before crickets take its place,
And still find no room for hope?

A deaf man rejoices in what he can see.
A blind woman revels in what she can hear.
How is it possible for one with all their senses
To sense nothing at all;
Hearing but choosing not to listen,
Seeing but choosing not to look,
Surrounded by a vast rainbow of colors
Yet walking listlessly through a world of back and white,
Music and song dance all about them
And they only complain of the noise?
How is it possible?

If one can be a child and believe there is no Father,
If one can suckle at the breast of love and say there is no Mother,
If one can clasp a hand held out in friendship
And believe there is no brother,
Perhaps…

If one can see the creation and see no Creator,
If one can experience good and see no God,
If one can talk to the Father and ignore the Son,
Perhaps…

Where the Universe is a cold and unfriendly place,
Where toil is the journey and death the destination,
Where only the crying of motherless children is heard,
Only the destruction of war-torn lands are seen,
Only the sorrow of broken promises and dying dreams are felt,
Where the loneliest man is found in the largest crowd,
Here is the dried and cracked earth where despair grows wild!

Where the Universe is the home of endless promise,
Where a child’s joyful laugh is louder
Than an enemies hateful curse,
Where hopeful eyes are drawn to a single flower
And blind to the war-ravaged rubble from which it sprouted,
Where the heart of a woman is of more
Importance than her dress size,
Where a man’s word is of more
Value than his bank account,
Where a warm wave of joy is felt
Flowing over the body like cool water
From a gentle waterfall
Simply from a baby’s soft cooing,
A woman’s tender smile,
Or a man’s loving touch,
This is the rich and fertile soil
Where Love grows free!

If you no longer can taste the rich wine of hope
Upon your tongue,
If you no longer can hear the sweet sound of singing
In the midst of the battle,
If you no longer can see the rainbow
Against a black and cloudy sky,
Or feel the touch of a stranger’s hand
Held out in kindness,
It is time to open your heart
To all that anxiously waits to fill it.

If you have been blinded by bitter disappointment
Let the hand of hope lead you into the light.
If your ears are deaf to the sweet sounds
Of the music of the Spheres,
Listen closer and you will hear
The angels singing your name.


And if as your hand lightly passes
Over the tops of grasses as you walk
Through the fields of your days
You feel only rough and dying reeds,
Look into the eyes of the Love that surrounds you.
Follow Him to fields rich with the promise of living grain;
A welcoming pasture that has waited in joy
With fertile soil for your arrival;
Whose well-tilled furrows reach with impatient hope
For your seeds of love to be sown.

For this is the miracle that happens every time to those who love:
“The more they give, the more they are given in return!”
And at a harvest such as this…despair is never welcome.

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