“Enchantment”: a poem

Enchantment

A scorched tree stands bare

against the full moon,

limbs like arms straining to reach

higher in a perpetual prayer

to the ones we were told

are always watching.

On the bleakest day

the cold spirit of greed

scours the bare ground, searching

for the one remaining morsel

to claim and hold high

in the pursuit of profit,

an offering to the hollow god

whose thirst can never be

quenched.

A lady walks softly on the ground,

her bag of seeds held close

as she gently tosses promises

into the earth, who is glad to welcome

the hope of new life taking root.

The wisest know

the truest prayers reach down

not up, to that space within.

The bluebird, while still cautious

lights on the brittle branch

which holds its weight just long enough

for a song to be born

and fly free across the face

of a land parched and craving

even the brush of grace.

And your sons and your daughters

will prophecy,

and your old men dream dreams

while your young men have visions.

In the end, we are saved

by enchantment, by a vision

of the world as something more

than what we can market

and sell for a few coins.

in the end we are saved

by enchantment.

Stuart