“Listen for the groaning”: a poem

Listen for the groaning

“Give us a king!” 

the people cried and tossed

their parched souls into the air,

soon to land on the dirt

like rose petals thrown on his path

to so-called greatness.

Some say this is a time of grasping,

but is it not a time of yielding instead?

We are seduced by the oily fear which whispers

the greatest lie: that we are separate,

that we do not share one great life.

I wish I could tell you

it will be painless,

but birth never is.

The watchful eye will not blink

as voices clamor and

wisdom searches for a foothold 

to press against chaos once again.

We ask how this could happen,

but when is the last time

we paused to marvel

at the rogue wildflower

pushing through the crack

of what we have called progress?

Meanwhile, far out to sea,

a fledgling storm gathers herself

and feeds on the fruit of our

arrogance and distraction.

Hubris is the name of today’s demon,

who walks boldly in the sunlight,

leaving dark alleyways behind

to be among a starving people

who never seem to recognize him.

Listen now, listen for the groaning,

for the whalesong sent out

across the endless sea.

Listen now, listen for the groaning,

for the voice of the trees who sing

a constant song of hope.

Listen now, listen for the groaning,

for the cry of the hawk

whose swift eye pierces

the fog of illusion.

Listen now, listen for the groaning,

and light your candle each morning,

placing it on the mantle of your heart.

Stuart Higginbotham