9/01/1939

Endless Road

What do I know about love?

More than I dare to measure.

What do I know about hope?

More than I know about treasure.

Columbia Appearing

Gate to Seoul

On the banks of a river at the edge of a storm,
I reflected on how the past gives the present its form;
How the sun and rain in close cooperation,
Allow the fields and farms to feed the nation.
On far away mountains, abundant ice and snow,
In spring and summer make the rivers to flow;
Then a trickling brook can a mighty torrent make,
When storms and erosion cause a levee to break.
Soon floodwaters rise and a harvest is lost;
Because the natural balance became tempest tossed.

As from a dream, a mythic visage then I spied-
On clouds Columbia, Goddess of Liberty, personified;
Dressed in Phrygian cap and star-spangled gown,
Carrying sword and laurel she made her way down.
With eyes full of sorrow and a contemplative sigh,
She opened her mouth to speak as she drew nigh.
Though the storm tried to silence her with thunderous roar,
She held up her sword and prepared for the war.
Lightning flashed as the gale blew from the left and right,
Columbia stood firm and still, displaying her might.

Then her voice a chorus of millions caused the storm to abate
As the judgment against her namesake she began to relate.
The politicians and partisans from the left and the right,
Through unending struggle for power created a blight.
Their turpitude and greed, as a source of division,
Could not go unpunished for failing to maintain her vision.
Liberty and Freedom require compromise and equanimity,
The battles of partisanship leads to slavery and inequality.
Then she struck down the villains and started anew,
Governance for the people both balanced and true.

Then she gave a gave a promise before returning to the skies,
That it is up to the people to determine if Liberty lives or dies.
If governance for the people by the people is to be our goal,
Then compromise and cooperation are what makes us whole.
As nature itself models the governance of our nation,
Yields its best fruit with balanced moderation.
So too we must balance against our own selfish fate,
The values of others, and the needs of the whole state.
Every individual must dutifully do their full part,
To prepare Columbia the room to live in their heart.

We, the People

Endless Road

On display, for all the world to see.

Scribed in blood upon the stretched flesh

of the oppressed. Freely given,

though seldom recognized.

 

Children flock to see me in bright yellow busses.

Foreigners muse over me as a novel concept,

with noses held high. Enemies gnaw at me from

within, like plague-ridden rats.

 

Still, I remain.

Battered, yet unbroken.

Perfect? Not even close.

Timeless? No, but living.

 

Slowly dying of neglect.

Watching the blood of innocents flood our streets

as I wait patiently for a transfusion.

A firm hand, the quill awaits.

A Dead Star

Hajis traveling, halted
To whet crows’ feet.
We’d grown too old
Squinting at the sun.

The pilgrimage made
Strangers bedfellows,
And marriages to a cause
If not each other.

But we spoke the same
Inarticulate tongue
That can only be
Transcribed by heartlight,
Illuminated by hands,
Onto the soft vellum,
Leaving indelible ink
On ephemeral skin.

Our love was a dead star,
Over before we knew it.
But it shone through us
Even after. Ever after.