Fury in Evening Land

If we lift our hands in orchestrated ecstasy
to the God we cannot see but refuse to raise
our voices in solidarity with brothers and sisters
who grieve before our very eyes then we are
indeed fully opiated addicts to religion’s needle,
and whatever flimflam of hope that is within us
is gelded and knows nothing of the fury of love.
 
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11 Comments

  1. literarywanderings on August 20, 2014 at 5:25 am

    Amen and amen.

  2. Amy K. Sorrells on August 20, 2014 at 10:15 am

    yeah…lamenting in fury over at my blog too. What else can a writer do in these times?

  3. Sandra Heska King on August 20, 2014 at 1:11 pm

    Stilled.

  4. Shaun C. on August 20, 2014 at 4:11 pm

    A call to consciousness if I’ve ever heard one…Amen

  5. genesmith12 on August 20, 2014 at 4:54 pm

    Powerful. Love the image of “the fury of love”.

  6. suzy on August 20, 2014 at 6:34 pm

    Beautiful, compelling and true.

  7. rhodaras2 on August 20, 2014 at 10:43 pm

    Poets voice the heart and soul of who we are in words that are placed together for purpose and imagery. Now if we can only correctly identify hope and quickly apply images and changes that give it.

  8. pastordt on August 21, 2014 at 5:11 am

    Yes. Yes. Preach it, Mr. Poet-Man. And thank you.

  9. La Vonne on August 21, 2014 at 1:08 pm

    Absolutely true! God help me to hear and respond to the cries of the grieving!

  10. micksilva on August 22, 2014 at 4:04 am

    The best friends stab you in the front.

  11. Juliet SN on September 7, 2014 at 8:27 pm

    Thank you for this. Thank you.

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