Lost on the Way

Lost on the Way

We created money to exculpate and

accommodate a reason for our diversity

and dissimilarity, to separate the happy

and the unhappy, the (so called) worthy

and the unworthy, as if we could modify

the equality of creation.  

We settled borders and built different countries,

as if this world had not been given to us in full.

We allowed shelter to evil, so that good

could be fought, giving reason for a judgment

and a sentence at the end of our earthly lives.

Unfortunately, it was not without reason

that Deuteronomy 32-20 tells us of gloomy

and sad decision of the Creator:

“Then he said – I will hide my face from them,

I will see what their end will be; for they are  

a perverse generation, sons in whom is no faithfulness – “

We know nor he or his prophets have yet revoked

cruel and severe such statement.

And the truth is, since then,

we go astray as lost sheep,

and cannot even find the way back.

This poem and all others at this blog, authored by Edilson Afonso Ferreira ©

Hark! The Lark!

On the Watercolor “A Voice from the Cliffs”, 1883, by Winslow Homer.

Three young women standing on a hillside,

no doubt fisher girls at a break in their daily tasks,

spellbound and transfixed by the call of a skylark,

strain and ethereal sound that descends

from its hovering flight.  

Fascinated and worried, they certainly think

on people’s ancient beliefs that some bird’s songs

foreshadow a bad omen, or at least, warn us

for dangers in the future.  

Painted scene by Homer, in his summer season

at the fishing community in Cullercoats, England.

But now we know that these well-shown concerns

did not materialize.  

Winter and tempests which followed did not weaken  

the vigor and healthy yearnings of so industrious

and happy that community.

An example for all of us, not worry on winters

and tempests, that will, undoubtedly, be frightening us,

by upcoming days and scenes of our lives.

Published in The Ekphrastic Review, June 22th 2022

http://www.ekphrastic.net

Unfulfilled Dreams

Today I see my friend’s house,

who passed away three months ago,

and then I glimpsed a sad fact,

poignant and painful, the message that remained,

at the top of the four corners of his house,

where he lived with spouse and three daughters.

Steel spikes left pointing to the sky,

born from the hope of the columns that would ascend

to the second, maybe even a third floor,

sheltering future grandchildren, great-grandchildren,

all of them shielding his marks, his beliefs,

his wants and desires, his heritage to the posterity.

His daughters are not married yet, and,

probably, will not start a family. 

I hope he will come to understand that,

although his house did not reach greater heights,

neither saw nor heard from grandchildren,  

the life he lived on its ground floor had been

happy and fruitful, better than the all of us.

He died at age 84, and I miss him terribly.

This poem and all others at this blog, authored by Edilson Afonso Ferreira ©