Thursday, November 6, 2008

Wilson Link

A rather appropriate poem in light of the election.


You lift up kings and throw them down.

At Your Word, congresses and parliaments are tumbled into confusion and the babble of tongues, pundits, and 24 hour news coverage.

You throw the ocean against the shore,

And sometimes that shore is inhabited.

Mothers cry and children are lost.

Their surviving men curse the God in whom they will not believe.

Your hand touches the tops of mountains

And deep within the earth

Rocks melt and vault toward the sky.

The planets circle, and their harmonic anthems fill the desolate places.

In a gift not anticipated, You give pets to children—in this case, a large, soft, floppy-eared rabbit, a rabbit with deep, brown, emotional eyes.

And your prophets have promised that one day the children will play with the cobras.

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