Out of the Whale's Belly

Poets of a disenchanted world--
the time has come for us to stop hiding behind 
pretty words that sound as brass but signify nothing.
That time is nigh to take our places as lit candles 
at every window, as keys for locked doors, 
hands reaching to help those who stumble 
along life's darkest passageways.

Let us shake out our hair, release words that,
until now, were trapped inside us like uncut diamonds.
We are the burning bush, afire again.
We are the arc of the covenant,
once lost, now found.
We walk alongside the homeless, feet aching.
We sleep beside the tortured and the abused,
lay balm on their wounds.
We bar the way against those who would
oppress us in God's holy name.
We bind the hands of leaders who would slaughter
our children, lay waste to all that has made us human.
We are the bulrushes, the rafts.
We burst out of the whale's belly.
We shall ride the rivers of our time until our words rise
like a flood and spill over into the stars,
imprinting them for future generations to draw hope from.

Pris Campbell

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