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The Ride

By Dale Angel

                                                  

Swirling through foggy filtered sunshine moving across the timelessness of a day or a lifetime over oceans and mountains dressed in snow guide the way through, Sun rises and Sunsets, summer and winter, passing stars and silver moons, we are in a set pattern as colors share their glory alongside of the family of man dying from hunger on an earth that holds enough for all.

 Spring is powerful with life surging to put forth new life as the earth covers herself with a green canopy of every good food among the deliberate destruction as our family fall with vacant pleading eyes along empty deserts weeping as we march toward more inhumanity. Harmony where are you? Wrap us in your arms.

Summer brings anticipation as the nights and days are bathed in warmth, the grain is standing with promise but someone poisoned the land and it is sick.  Fire rains from the heavens as one brother desires another’s bread and is bent to take another’s resources. This magnificent jewel that hangs upon nothing is our home it has kept a dependable schedule bringing our winters and summers on time as we travel in a universe designed for our pleasure.            

The momentum never tires this motion of movement turns days to nights and another rotation is accomplished the colors change defining seasons.  Music plays to how one is affected. Weeping and joy meet and mingle according to where you are and who you are, yet…all are the children of the same family. The whole earth is trembling spilling innocent blood, man is at war with himself.

Our earth is contaminated with contempt. The seasons are so affected great storms of unrestrained violence are beating themselves against an unrepentant world. The rage of a cultivated appetite for inhumanity is felt in common everyday activity.

 Who is safe? History is our bridge.

We walk on the same collapsible weak structure.

My breath is getting shallow my fingers reach for the filmy evening sun rays as I soar on the possibilities, whirling on a merry go round through a few hours of life.    

Outside my window fog falls over the mountains bringing cooling air after the relentless sun the changing scenes are vivid as a rainbow of silky clouds holds me. I bow my head for my wounded family who suffers at the hands of his brothers. We silently swing on our way to another season, the sun becomes obscure. How long can we ride?

 

Dale Angel

 

 

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