No difference, your grief and the world’s.
The weaponless, the broken, the unborn’s grief.
From the Colorado River to the Tibetan Plateau.
No one is spared, all cary world grief.
She at the Lost Highway’s Last Off-Ramp.
He of Visions dimmed by infernal mortality.
Even you who feels not herself, himself, at risk.
You whose spirit is the promise of Wilds.
A warmaker’s prayer never answered in full.
Gold-lipped diplomats, gold speeches, gold tombs.
You who see sickness as a red badge of courage.
Those who convert to join the dying & dead.
You, spontaneous, open-hearted, being peace.
Someone, everywhere, touching world grief.
11 December 1993
Spoken word version from Walking thru Hell Gazing at Flowers.
Copyright © 1996 by Jim Cohn.
Text from The Dance Of Yellow Lightning Over The Ridge (Writers & Books Publications).
Copyright © 1998 by Jim Cohn.