Photo by Zeeshaan Shabbir on Pexels.com
We are in the midst of a perfect storm.
Those who seek perfection, especially
a perfection to match themselves,
which they consider the norm,
relish the chaos which leads astray
a nation once dedicated to the proposition
that “all men are created equal
and endowed by their creator with the right
to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”
What a lovely concept in sunny weather,
on a clear blue day.
But, those seeing red over perceived imperfection
cannot tolerate those who refuse to let the imperfect
get in the way of the possible.
They prefer to cut programs and taxes,
to keep their money in their own pockets,
show their personal largesse to those deemed worthy.
If only, they could see their own imperfections clearly.
We would not be in this frightful storm.
The winds of fascism and authoritarianism stir wildly
every manner, moral tome, and rule of law, and norm.
The rain of terror by masked militia in our streets
is more costly than housing the homeless,
feeding the hungry, educating our young people
who live with expectations of defeat.
The young see their pursuit of happiness and their freedom
being washed away, with inequality laid at their feet.
I do not believe in perfection.
There are few perfect days.
Clouds are born by winds unseen
shadowing perfection and laying it aside
while violent storms brew.
I do not seek the impossible.
It is too costly and uncontrollable.
I know no policy nor program is perfect, as is no man.
Nothing makes us greater than to simply understand
we are all flawed human beings doing the best we can.
There can be no apology for silently marveling
and supporting these dark days.
The perfect see no reason to apologize
for the greater wisdom of their ways.
We are left to raise umbrellas
to protect as many as we can.
But, umbrellas are no match for perfect storms
created by our fellow man.
STORM STORY
Dark as night the sun took flight
before the winds wild and tight
forced their way with all their might
across the city showing no pity.
Trees split and showered leafy bowers,
or erupted from the ground with nary a sound
their roots so deep now unbound.
The wind became the only sound
creaking and weeping across sky and ground
raining tears in swirling fears that pound
hearts startled as they ran for cover
before a storm like no other.
I love a storm which reminds us all
that we have little say at all.
Climate has a mind of its own and yet
we must never forget and quickly recall
That we cannot tame nature
but we can tame our selves.
Natural disasters may not not be natural
after all.
What more do we need to believe
climate change has come to stay
unless we find a new way
to harness wind and sun and wave.
I welcome the message the storm left behind.
We must not delay altering our minds
and opening our hearts to the divine
which moves through nature’s mysterious ways
to offer us life day after day,
until storms take away sunny days with dark displays
of the death and destruction at play
among those who refuse to change their ways.
The future is ours, like it or not.
It is not too late to do what we ought.
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Filed under COMMENTARY, POETRY
Tagged as climate change, floods, high winds, midwest storms, nature, Ohio weather, RAIN, storms, tornados, twisters, wind gusts