By Frederick Blanchard
Swaying back and forth,
In rolls the endless tide,
Polarized between poles,
Out rolls currents of pride.
The sun rises; the moon falls,
Winter heeds spring’s call,
Once again geese take flight,
Over the marsh and urban sprawl.
Questions churn in slow rotation,
First clockwise, then counter,
Standing rocks into caverns fall,
Inside life’s bowl, yearnings stir.
Chaotic worlds, to humbling silence,
Hills, valleys, joy and dismay,
Darkness to light of mercy and grace,
Eternal life freed from death in clay.