As long as human stalks the earth it seems
we’re doomed to suffer pestilence and war.
The meaning of the madness … what? We roar,
we wheedle, whine and whimper. Angry screams
and bitter curses punctuate our dreams
in darkest nights and subsequently bore
into our waking consciousness. The core
in each of us is cloaked with human schemes.
But what if all we see and hear and taste
has been designed to serve a single goal —
to sensitize, to whet the appetite
for silence, beauty, truth? A morning faced
with open heart and hope could be the sole
rehearsal for a spirit’s maiden flight.
2001 Mary Boren
As wounded soldiers convalesce
and diagnostic tools progress,
your menace, Post Traumatic Stress,
must be endured.
We’re seeing more and knowing less
on how you’re cured.
For though the body may be whole,
when memories exact their toll
on thinking, you erode the soul
with frozen screams.
Anxiety usurps control
of conscious streams.
O malady of modern days,
you paint a picture that portrays
demolished dreams, a deep malaise
that’s darker than
the radiance of hope ablaze
in heaven’s span.
But, lifting up each terrified,
mistreated child, each battered bride
and broken man to safety’s side
above the storm,
we pray that healing far and wide
becomes the norm.
2012 Mary Boren