© 1992 Harry Roloff
Upon that ancient roaring river
Of anguished human blood
Shed by their souls oppressed
In silent sacrifice redressed
Ride our spirits jubilantly
On its foaming crest
Into the all-consuming tidal wave
Poised hungrily to swallow all opposition.
Black intimidation, we do pray
Found in every shade of grey
Shall be forever flushed away.
Should not we all rise giddy high
To tumble down through the tumultuous surf
To be washed white
By our sins of smallish trust
As on and to the deepest ocean swim
We yet surely must?
Weak are my eyes
Their perception slow
Numb are my limbs
The hearing low
Yet I do sense a distant drum
To whose rhythmic code I hum
With all my heart in solemn hymn.
A drum not to be heard
Much less be seen
Reverberating distinctly keen
Transmitting a cryptic tone
Concealed instructions as a poem.
The vibes far out and yet so near
Beyond the range of any human ear
Ring resonate and swing
Take the thinking
To some other-worldly thing.
By this heartbeat of a different kind
A secret message you may find
As in sleep
Dreaming deep
Of mysteries of many mansions
And on and on
Beats the tom-tom.
In the humming silence
Of your mind’s flower garden
Spectacular butterflies flutter
From brilliant bloom to bloom.
No strict order here
Nor confusing clutter
But the blossoming fragrance
Of otherworldly whiffs.
Here is no hesitation
Of “buts” or “ifs”
Just the purring vibration
Of unfolding, growing.
Free and unconstrained
Natural and unretrained
Beauty lies
In the unpredictable flutter
Of divine butterflies.
HR — To a sister
Those who were purposely given
Powerful vision to be driven
Would hardly ride a timid sheep
When they can mount a fiery steed.
Or even an eagle with daring wing
Far beyond all clouds to swing
To sail and soar on Spirit’s draft
Expectantly shooting ahead
As on an arrow’s shaft.
Threatening clouds
Looming dark
Cause no waver nor detour
Straight through the middle
Leads the path without demur.
For shielded by the Highest Power
They do not feel the need to cower
But boldly carry on
Their mission-marathon.
Though battle bruised
And lightning seared
Neither hell nor death is feared
As on an endless flight
They did determinedly embark
To catch that phantom Light.
HR — To a brother