#peacegrooves — Public Fediverse posts

The Archer

In the high sea of clouds,
in willowing wisps of white,
an evil lurks.

The winds of the world bring
the first whisper of change,
an alien thing.

A dragon.

Red as blood, gleaming darkness,
its armor, invincible?

Heavy metal talons, drooling jaws,
acid falling, burning earth below.

It screams through the sky,
wings creaking, flapping furiously,
breathing flame.

Men flee,
like tiny ants scurrying
from desecration
into it.

Only One holds his ground,
a bow and one arrow
in his hand.

The Prince awaits,
as if to allow the dragon to
devour him.

Then with a flash,
he looses his arrow.

It soars through the air.

Blood gushing,
the dart buried deep,
the dragon crashes to the ground.

Landing on the One.

From amongst the dragon’s corpse,
amidst dying coals and wisps of smoke,
a figure crawls,
stands.

It is the Archer,
the One,
Him.

From the collection “Words at 16 (1983)”

Storm Surge

In the end,
will you be faithful?
That is question.

When the storm has come and gone,
when what you thought was precious has been stripped away,
when you sleep in darkness wondering if the lights will ever come back on,
when your life in the flash of lightning reverts back to the everyday of your sisters and brothers in the warzone,
when your plane to those destinations is grounded by the thunder’s roar?

Will you awake to new resolve for justice?
Will you spend less time before the screen and more time present to loved ones and those in need of it?
Will you leave the ground to alight among the troubled?
Will you listen to them?

Will the power that comes on be in you,
through you,
glowing out through your eyes,
electrifying,
filling you with a compassion so compelling
you become a wire
among many
channeling
love and peace
to the world?

June 2, 2015

Dialogue: The Unarmed Prophet and the Armed World

A conversation between Girolamo Savonarola and Niccolò Machiavelli

Florence. Night. The Piazza della Signoria is empty, though the stones still remember fire. The ghost of Girolamo Savonarola stands near the place where he was hanged and burned. Niccolò Machiavelli enters, older now, carrying a manuscript beneath his arm.

SAVONAROLA:
You return to the place of ashes, Messer Niccolò.

MACHIAVELLI:
Florence has many places of ashes, Fra Girolamo. Yours is only the most famous.

SAVONAROLA:
And you have made use of it.

MACHIAVELLI:
I made use of what happened. That is not the same as rejoicing in it.

SAVONAROLA:
You wrote that I was ruined because I was unarmed.

MACHIAVELLI:
Were you not?

SAVONAROLA:
I preached repentance. I called a city to righteousness. I turned hearts toward God.

MACHIAVELLI:
For a time.

SAVONAROLA:
Truth is not false because men grow tired of it.

Read the full Dialogue at PeaceGrooves.