The Age of Aquarius fades as AK47s
turn up the volume at the synagogue,
the sporting event. The government yawns.
Faux rage becomes tiresome.
What do we have, if not each other?
If not the right to stock the pantry
without sacrifice of blood splashing
as the news story breaks across the internet.
So we look the other way,
sickened and awkward at the staff meeting,
glugging coffee when what we need
is a great opera singer.
Low tragic strings supporting a soprano
that rises to the stars,
showers us
with the broken beauty of our sorrow.
What we need is a motorless boat
on an ocean of truth, our faith a faded blue,
mirrored above, rippling below,
pooling out for miles around.
.
Al Fournier
.