Men flew through shadows deep,
Raucous birds a-calling,
Rivers ran through fields asleep
Drowning in their falling.
Houses lost, homes all gone,
Buildings washed away,
Will we be able to survive
The rains that fell that day?
People tell of worse,
When lands were all a-flood,
So many moons ago,
Yet no-one mentions blood.
Blood of ages, blood of sin,
Blood that’s carried through,
From year to year, man to man,
Red, dark red and blue.
So light the torches, bring the flame,
Rekindle fires and lamp.
Bring on the heat, bring on the light,
And banish all the damp.
And those of us now sitting dry,
Look down upon the mess,
But for the Grace of God say you,
The death, the pain, the stress.
Begin again, take the new,
See this as favour done,
For out of ashless comfort zones,
Arises new life won.
Large of eyes, pale of face,
Looking all around,
Bewildered by this chance of fate,
Standing on new ground.
Events of life, controlled or not,
Change us deep within,
And carry portents for the rest,
“Let go of all your whims!”
Life is transient, belongings more,
As stewardship is given,
Ownership is obsolete,
As soul’s experience now driven.
This time, this place, this precious now,
To which we all belong,
Will have it’s way, give us life,
And take us all along.
© Copyright Rob McShane – March 2014
The Wayward Warrior 