Higher

Higher
 
Covid beats us and brings us low
hammers us earthward, to our knees
magnifies our humanity
lifts our fragile Divinity
compels us to contribute Love.
 
Above the silent city streets
above the farrow fields so fair
above us breathes a whispered wind
where the Star-Thrower scatters dust
where threads of Light now warp and weft.
 
Left to our trifling devices
left to ponder our bridges, burned
left staring into our mirror
we wonder “Can we rise again?”
Angels hover above us, All.
 
They call our names and guide us home:
never alone, we are never
alone.  Cellos moan and comfort
weaves into Light’s filament forms
cocoons us and lifts us higher.
 
Higher and wider, music floats
in through his mouth, her nose and ears
but who hears God’s sweet gentle voice?
Does anyone wonder The Choice?
How can we EVER be the same?
 
Names were called and blame was assigned
but that never solves our Problems.
It never pulls us out of hate
and can never lift us higher.
Where are Seers who can call the breeze?
 
Disease means dis-ease: not at ease.
Why are so many dumbfounded?
For something wicked this way comes
and it drags us down to our knees.
Does anyone still need passion?
 
Can ashen Souls still call forth wind?
Here, a euphonious breeze blows
tickles the flow of the rivers
cellos and violins ascend
up and up they surge and expand
something rather human in the
melodious notes they emote.
 
And we all shift higher.  Higher.



 
 
by Barbara Helvey Hughes, 2020