Copyright© by P. R. Lowe, May 31, 2010
Oh tree of flesh and bone,
do I alone hear your plea?
Is it just me?
Or is there a storm brewing?
Are we stewing in our own soup,
the route of which began aeons ago,
leading us here to this illusion of fear,
so that many hear your voice
amid the clap trap of plastic and metal?
Can we settle into your blessings and grace,
in our own time,
in our own space
from the heart
that does not part itself from source?
Can we set a course for integrity?
The truth of which is in your every leaf;
dispelling the grief of past,
dissolving the fear of future
into the breath of now,
which, somehow, you breath continually
into the ether, below and above
revolving in ever expanding circles
of unattached love.