Photo by Aron Visuals on Unsplash
Declining sun
evening robin songs
as leaves flutter
what merit our anguish
when our stake remains lost?
Not in the consuming lava that leaves hundreds homeless in its unpitying wake. Not in the tremors and aftershocks that follow the earthquake. Not in the bluster of egos that seek proof of their pride in apocolyptic threats, followed by magnanimous gestures. Not in the weariness of everyday life that slowly bares us all to the ground
No, not in any of these.
But only in the small, still voice. So often unheard. If heard, then so often not listened to. If heard and listened to, then so often ignored. That small, still voice, speaking in whispers louder than thunder, softer than newborn skin. That small, still voice, ever present in the heart of heartbreak, as life itself yields, through suffering, to death…
…and to new life beyond.
centuries passing
the rounded tops of once-
-pointed mountains
our celebrations passing
so quickly before our eyes
for dVerse Poets’ MTB: Via Negativa (pubtended by Bjorn)
COLLEEN’S WEEKLY #TANKA TUESDAY #POETRY CHALLENGE NO. 87, “CARE & SHARE,” #SYNONYMSONLY
Kiwinana’s FINAL #Weekly Tanka Prompt #Poetry Challenge – Week 100 – Celebrations & Century
Frank J. Tassone 
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