Oh, subtle intimations of the hidden world
That grace our dreams by night and inspire thoughts by day,
Every which way I turn I glimpse some deeper truth
And yet – what use to me, if here unmoved I stay?
There's an incoming message I must deliver,
A note to myself and “To whom it may concern”,
Things are coming to a head, more storms are brewing;
No time for delay – nor yet to the bar adjourn.
In film, book, poetry, art, and common street talk
Blessèd, subversive, kindred souls of secrets hint,
Stirring the dying embers of some age-old fire
Or striking new sparks in kindling with their sharp flint.
But fellowship and moral support won't suffice,
Nor getting lost in the muckle of sideshows,
Whether nature, dirty business or politics:
Whatever cause where raw emotion overflows.
Yes, we're in a deep pit; ropes short, ladders broken
And the world is so crazy, beyond parody,
But there's no sense in trying to outshout the world:
I see, you see, and “Why don't they listen to me!?”
I'm not talking 'bout marching to Trafalgar Square,
I'm not talking 'bout Twitter or In-Your-Face-Book.
Real, lasting change can only come from within,
Not by reading the menu, but learning to cook.
I know there's only one way out of this morass,
Other than a pine box, with other expenses,
And that is to break the habit of a lifetime,
To wake to World Soul, and return to my senses.
~~~oOo~~~
Heed this Call as best ye may,
Our hour of need is at-hand.
This is all I have to say,
Lines drawn in blood in the sand.
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~ ET. Yorkshire, England, © Sunday 11 May 2021.
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Image: Writing in sand.
Image author: Mrs Logic at Flikr.
Image source: Wikimedia Commons (orig. Flikr).
Image licence: Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic (CC BY 2.0).
