Not everyone comes wearing
a red dress.
Many are content with
white shirts, plaid skirts, blue jeans.
The wounded are wearing
overcoats,
because for them
the world is prematurely cold.
The silly and the cleverest
are dressed as clowns.
And the angels are
naked, between the eyelashes
of our setting sun.
Not everyone comes wearing
the reminder of black,
although pain is everywhere
and loss attends us.
Those who are painted in blood
have wept in the wasting of war.
And those who are
painted with light
are here to heal us.
Friend,
even if I came to you
in the rags of weariness,
the cloak of invisibility or
dust of neglect, the
web of a spider,
would you offer me a drink of water
seeing thirst,
and help to decide
a way, at the crossroads of life?
If I look into your
hands, what will I find:
a golden thread,
the strength of beauty,
a loaf of bread?
When the one who is awaited comes
and you find your face
within his face
and your heartbeat
living inside his heartbeat
as entwined as lover’s breath;
when the angel that he brings
bears your name as
clearly inscribed as his own
and the animal at his side
walks peacefully
in the shadow of your footsteps;
then will the Earth Revolution begin
like a child
awakening at the onset of morning
(a Dawn Child)
and green will be as red as gold.
And that which starts
prayerful in a whispered word
swift as lightning
or as wildfire consumes
not but bitterness
and the lusts of exploitation and war.
And it shall end in this:
The never ending fertility
of the dream of God
and the promise filling the fields
of holy prophesy. For we
in the companionship
of the awaited—of one coming on—
shall eat at the banquet of our preparations.
And the one will be invited
to sit here
and be among us.
That day shall be called
Abundance. And that night
Deliverance from the Apocalypse
of manmade evils. And the world
with the one at the center of
the everywhere from
now until always will dance.
Dance as people dance
around a tree of fire
that does not burn but
shines with joy. With life.
With redefining
Liberty.
David Sparenberg
6 August 2008
ON HEARING AGAIN BEETHOVEN’S
ODE TO JOY
In the terrible
conflagration of war
it is not only armies
that are consumed
but the obo
and the violin die
die tragically as well.
In the monstrous
rampages of hatred
it is not only the victims
of insidious propaganda who
are the targets of political rage
but the flowers of perception
are withered too.
Like a winter storm
the land that longs
for love of spring
wastes with wounds
and ugly memories.
Somewhere in the darkness
of petrifying screams
there is the smell of
carrion earth
an outcry of blood.
Music too
like a sweetness in the soul of
struggling even
as a song bird
nesting
in the heart of the angel
of human discovery perishes.
Who then pleads
for the others who
are scattered everywhere
like dust in the wind?
DEAR HANNE
thank u very much for reaching out and warm welcome to my precious friends circle. when ur new flag is done i would love to see it, thanks for ur comment on my blog about the world peace flag. have a gr8 day - namaste.
Ich hoffe der Oma geht es gut,genieße die schöne Zeit,ich muß schon aufpassen das die größeren nicht zu kurz kommen.So ein kleines Wesen ist einfach schön.Lieben gruß zu Dir und Deiner Familie Renate
iPeace.us
Hanne Billowitz's Comments
Comment Wall (49 comments)
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Not everyone comes wearing
a red dress.
Many are content with
white shirts, plaid skirts, blue jeans.
The wounded are wearing
overcoats,
because for them
the world is prematurely cold.
The silly and the cleverest
are dressed as clowns.
And the angels are
naked, between the eyelashes
of our setting sun.
Not everyone comes wearing
the reminder of black,
although pain is everywhere
and loss attends us.
Those who are painted in blood
have wept in the wasting of war.
And those who are
painted with light
are here to heal us.
Friend,
even if I came to you
in the rags of weariness,
the cloak of invisibility or
dust of neglect, the
web of a spider,
would you offer me a drink of water
seeing thirst,
and help to decide
a way, at the crossroads of life?
If I look into your
hands, what will I find:
a golden thread,
the strength of beauty,
a loaf of bread?
David Sparenberg
18 July 2009
Thanks and best wishes.
When the one who is awaited comes
and you find your face
within his face
and your heartbeat
living inside his heartbeat
as entwined as lover’s breath;
when the angel that he brings
bears your name as
clearly inscribed as his own
and the animal at his side
walks peacefully
in the shadow of your footsteps;
then will the Earth Revolution begin
like a child
awakening at the onset of morning
(a Dawn Child)
and green will be as red as gold.
And that which starts
prayerful in a whispered word
swift as lightning
or as wildfire consumes
not but bitterness
and the lusts of exploitation and war.
And it shall end in this:
The never ending fertility
of the dream of God
and the promise filling the fields
of holy prophesy. For we
in the companionship
of the awaited—of one coming on—
shall eat at the banquet of our preparations.
And the one will be invited
to sit here
and be among us.
That day shall be called
Abundance. And that night
Deliverance from the Apocalypse
of manmade evils. And the world
with the one at the center of
the everywhere from
now until always will dance.
Dance as people dance
around a tree of fire
that does not burn but
shines with joy. With life.
With redefining
Liberty.
David Sparenberg
6 August 2008
ON HEARING AGAIN BEETHOVEN’S
ODE TO JOY
In the terrible
conflagration of war
it is not only armies
that are consumed
but the obo
and the violin die
die tragically as well.
In the monstrous
rampages of hatred
it is not only the victims
of insidious propaganda who
are the targets of political rage
but the flowers of perception
are withered too.
Like a winter storm
the land that longs
for love of spring
wastes with wounds
and ugly memories.
Somewhere in the darkness
of petrifying screams
there is the smell of
carrion earth
an outcry of blood.
Music too
like a sweetness in the soul of
struggling even
as a song bird
nesting
in the heart of the angel
of human discovery perishes.
Who then pleads
for the others who
are scattered everywhere
like dust in the wind?
David Sparenberg
25-26 July 2008
Meet my second newborn grandson, Torin, born 4 June, 2009. New life brings new hopes. There is nothing in this world as precious as a newborn.thank u very much for reaching out and warm welcome to my precious friends circle. when ur new flag is done i would love to see it, thanks for ur comment on my blog about the world peace flag. have a gr8 day - namaste.
Come be part of our group
Gandhi, man of peace
Thank you
http://www.ipeace.me/group/gandhimanofpeace
Hanne Thank youNamaste
Ich hoffe der Oma geht es gut,genieße die schöne Zeit,ich muß schon aufpassen das die größeren nicht zu kurz kommen.So ein kleines Wesen ist einfach schön.Lieben gruß zu Dir und Deiner Familie RenateI hope you're having a great day!
Thank you so much for your friendship! Your photos are lovely.
I left a comment for you on my blog post "Bankrupt".
Lots of love,
~Susie
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