Please
|

About the Author
Default Group
Location:Texas, USA Naturalized US Citizen of Irish extract -   Fixed Wing and Helo trucker.Interests: "The Absurdity of Man". I am a proud supporter of Blarney, Nonsense, and Hooey. I enjoy being a chopper jockey, and trying to figure the world, people and belief systems out. I'm just not very good at it, so it keeps me real busy. I scribble, blog, run this website, mess with rental houses, ride motorbikes, and read as much as I can. I went solo 44 years ago, and I like to say I'm gonna get me a real job one day. When I grow up. ("but not just yet, Lord, not just yet") For my aviation scribbles see www.chopperstories.com.... enjoy! I wish you Peace in your Life. May you always walk with the sun on your face, and a breeze ruffling your hair. And may you cherish a quiet wonder for our awesome Universe. Life isn't always good. But it is always fascinating. Never quit.
Rating
0%
 (0 votes)

Click on an image below to link to other sections...
Visitor Number:
3,146,651
  • Chopper Stories
  • Writers Harbor
  • Writers Harbor
  • God-in-a-Box
  • Steps On My Road
Follow us on:
View Work
Be the first person to like this story !!
The Blade of Damocles
SmileyCam




The Blade of Damocles


Underneath a blade
Paused, unnaturally,
from beating air
into a mostly
illusory submission,
I gaze in rapture
At a thin gaseous layer
With which our home
Fragile and small
Is blessed by Forces
slightly understood
And by a Great Cosmic Kindness
Whom we, noisy and unseeing
Barely acknowledge.

I watch as colors
Masterfully painted
Fade by, like soothing notes
Of a half forgotten hymn
A love song
Ancient as the hills
Weathered as the seas
But whispering on
longingly
In the hearts of Men.

In this brief moment
Of Quietude and Calm
Before the coming Storm
The noisy beat of mankind's toil
The urgent shout of labor due
The clamor of the restless wheel
The cranes that arch up to the sky
As fingers clawing at a face...
I pause, and wonder silently
About our human race.

Underneath a blade
Paused, unnaturally,
from beating air
into a mostly
illusory submission,
I gaze in rapture
At a thin gaseous layer
With which our home
Fragile and small
Is blessed by Forces
slightly understood
And by a Great Cosmic Kindness
Whom we, noisy and unseeing
approach, unknowingly

When at last
Our eyes
So feeble, so dark
Strain to the skies
And gropingly, earnestly
Dimly, discern

A light beyond colors
A truth beyond words
The turning of Pages
The Song of the Ages

We are born of this Light
And beloved in His sight.



Francis Meyrick




Last edited by admin on October 8, 2017, 10:59 am
We little humans, hurtling through the Universe on our tiny, pale blue dot, will find few answers to Life's great mysteries. But we should at least find many of the questions. To write is to ask. To seek. To grope. With humility, and humor. Peace.
comments powered by Disqus
Copyright © 2007-2015 Writers Harbor
Visitor Number:
3,146,651