Sometimes
the noise is persistent
and unforgiving.
and the choice
Is to fight what isn’t there
or to sit in tears
or both.

And Yes! Rilke!
What we choose to fight
is so tiny!
But in our weakness
the sheer numbers
are deafening
infinite
unrelenting.

And Yes! Mary!
Their tiny
and numerous voices
cry out
“Mend My Soul!"

Baiting my need
to feed my old friend,
who has sustained
my illusions
until now.

What hope is there
Immersed
in this illusion
we’ve created?
this quiet perdition?

And every day.
every
single
waking
moment

The quiet whimpering
of those
we hold dear.
Calling us
to sacrifice
once again,
our Spirit

In order
to convince
our old friend, Didymous
That our caring
has been
honest.
That our goodness is
worthy.

The deafening noise
will reside
in the past,
And will have a home
tomorrow.
But holds no magic
in this moment!
If we allow ourselves
to be
dominated.

And allow the winds
to blow as they surely will.
If we welcome
annihilation.

And Yes!  A.Powell Davies!
If we can do this,
and sit
and listen
to the
nothingness
of this moment,

We will create
a Divine breath,
where the world
stood still
and there was
A returning
calmness,
A peaceful
stillness,
A deepening
inward knowledge
that in the final reckoning,

All is well.