Two Feet Facing the Wind

Two Feet Facing the Wind

(Written while listening to Dylan)

The wind still blows, blowing through empty heads,

Who think that we can simply ban cannonballs,

That such an action taken by those in charge,

Could stop them from flying, stop the dying,

As if a piece of paper, and a vote really matter,

As if intentions without action are ever enough,

As if what we will must be, so let it be written,

But it being done requires more than our assent,

Assent can be assumed, while we sit on our ass,

Instead, rise we must, for hope lies in ascent,

Getting up and going up, becoming better ourselves,

In doing, in deeds, not in proclamation, for in each

Decree the illusion is entrenched, goodness put on

Like a mask, a shell, the image, painted an inch thick,

But as empty as words, as hollow as the politicians,

Who would write the ordinance, seal it packaged

With ribbons and bows, and signed with a card,

Because we care enough to send the very best,

The Gold and silver plaited shackles and chains

Of the shiny illusion that mediocrity is enough,

That existence and time make people free,

That freedom rises from being called free,

Granted permission, given not taken, forever

Depending on, staking the future on hot air blowing

From Hollow men, who have since dispatched

Their birthright and their spines to sing songs

About dreams and wind, and mandated goodness,

While subsidizing and cultivating its antithesis.

Simply walking down roads, again and again,

Trying to catch the wind, vain wisdom calls it,

Nothing new is ever done, a time to be born,

A time to die, but no! Now is a time to plant,

A time to build on the firm foundation, not to ban,

But to build men so rooted in love, their goodness

Makes bombs relics, symbols of a past not forgotten

Not in ignorance of darkness, bliss of innocence,

That behind the walls, built once in fear, lies people

Who have not forgotten evil, but who have overcome it,

Not with Evil, not with illusion, not with lies and vacancy,

Spineless darkness, idols of idleness, but with Good,

Built and Baptized, christened and blessed by loving.

The answer my friend is not blowing in the wind of words,

But planted firmly by the streams of water, alive.

One by one, it spreads, by seamless actions giving hope

That we are more, that we matter, that what we give

Is needed, and that hoarding ourselves, holding back,

Accepting less, cowering in fear that we don’t have enough

To make it, for fear will never lead us upward into the light.

The wind blows side to side, and incessantly spins,

In cyclones of terror, blustering hurricanes of worry,

And typhoons of doubt, but on our two feet we face it,

We stand upright, and like the trees grow ever upward

Towards the light they will never fully reach, they bask,

In the light, and the rings of growth testify that they

Have risen out of the cold dark ground, grown strong,

With their roots richly planted in it, cultivated by it,

Gaining nourishment from it, they must leave it behind,

Though part of them is in the darkness, they can

Finally look up and see the sky, and in the infinite space

Can  search for more, so do we, richly planted, like them

Our purpose is to grow toward the light, and we can’t

Sheltered in paper safe sealed packages. Our seed,

Planted in the darkness, will be strong of purpose,

Resilient, and good, and powerful, beyond measure,

Ready in wait for the season to come to share our fruit. 

                                                                    ~ Rev. Peter T. Atkinson