Follow the Children
When into the world drenched of time
come star-fresh eyes to recast it,
its denizens too weary
to bear the cost
of repristination deny
their need in a silence of consensus. . .
And so reborn is tragedy
in shades of gray . . .
ever aching beneath the surface
swelling
the world awaiting
its own potential joyous birth.
I say, instead sit
at the feet of children
rainbows arc from their mouths.
Find the tiny spring
of joy at the self's center:
Treat it as precious gold.
From thieves of time protect it;
treat it as it were a bird
fallen from the nest.
Do not let it wither.
With happy abandon God
made the sky, then stepped across it,
leaving footprints filled with starlight.
Do so the same.
This world to make and save
needs creation every day.
When the stranger arrives,
listen to his heartful message,
then rise, and go with him
into the cosmos of his making.