Gestation

by Vernie Lynn DeMille 

 

Restraint,

And not excess,

Is truer power

Than all the letting go

Of our tongues,

Our outrage,

Our ire, and

Our anger

Which throws the reins

Of our self control

To the hands of those who

Can direct our emotions. 

 

Feel it deeply,

Every drop of injustice

That turns our blood,

Over and over, 

In a slow boil

For the damage done

To innocence, 

Liberty,

And faith.  

 

Write each wrong

On the inside of our skin,

Where we can read

The memories 

Of what was done

And left undone, 

Until the pricking

Of the pen keeps each nerve

Alert, aware, and

Eternally on guard. 

 

Temper,

Control, and 

Restrain

The urge to strike out,

Hit back,

Or break

Like a storm cloud torn open 

And poured out like wrath

On the heights of a mountain, 

Where the water of life is lost

As hail on the crags. 

 

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

 

And plant seeds of

Knowledge, 

Experience, 

Wisdom, 

Hope.

Until the seeds we plant 

Are settled

In a fertile soil,

A hungry land,

Ready for the hard work

Of growing. 

 

Then weep,

Like a soaking rain,

Inoculated with remembrance, 

Repentance and

Forgiveness;

Weep like a woman in travail,

Like a mother cradling her child

Fresh from birth water and blood, 

And sweep the culture clean

With our power

Of creation.

 

August 23, 2020