A Voice for Small Victories

If I write only what I know
I will save my ink for autumn,
No longer am I summer’s child,

Spring,  I welcome it
but only as a spectator.
I watch it and smile fondly
for I have been there.

Winter is a concept
I’m not yet ready
to embrace.

September through November
is my milieu.  Early on
the flowers still in bloom,
and at the end, snowflakes are falling.

Bless these things
that call my pen to action,
but what about this hunger
to make peace more
than mere abstraction?

Is it poverty of language
or fault of culture that leaves me
searching for the perfect elocution
of my dreams?

Look past these words and imagine
beyond the fields of blood,
past all occluded vision
past the generals’ perverted missions

and see the peace
that can exist, that must exist,
first in the minds of poets
then flowing from their pens.

Imagine the constancy of water
changing rock  and celebrate quietly

these small and deathless victories
that lead to peace.

16 thoughts on “A Voice for Small Victories

  1. BoardFlak

    You are a writer and a poet Sarah. Words are your stock in trade and you use them well. Peace is a goal all seen people share, and hopefully poets can help lead the way.

    Although I am at least in Autumn myself (hopefully Winter is a little ways off yet), I still write of Spring and Summer. When I do, I get to visit once again for a while.

  2. Dear Sarah,

    These words say to me, Halt, do not proceed unless or until you allow the Peace that transcends understanding to enter into your being before you proceed (with anything).

    Times is precious and so often I’ve the feeling there’s not enough. If only there were five more minutes to the morning hour, or fifteen more before I close my computer and head home, or another thirty before dinner. Silly me. There is the perfect amount. How do I reschedule me?!

    Your wise words, once again, guiding these staggering step into stillness…

    Deb

    “See the peace
that can exist, that must exist,
first in the minds of poets
then flowing from their pens.”

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