A Year of Poems – Day 164

Free falling in the stratosphere,
no air, no sound around my ears,
there I heard a glorious sound
a trumpet solo all around
tapped out slow with an iron lung,
It stopped me dead and there I hung
suspended with the wispy clouds
the sun masked by a starry shroud
and amid this bright twilight sky
the trumpet sang this glad lament:
“Oh that the land would reconcile
her ancient bickering with the sky,
Oh that the sky would soon repent
of all his boiling puffed up wind
look down below they rage and whine
they scheme with boiling, raging ire
they’d rather burn then say they sinned
against each other o’er and oe’r.
But fight on tired friends
the rhythm picks up towards the end,
and sounds like laughter on the shore
across the sea, where quiet-like,
I’ll wait till all hate has burned away
You can wait too if you’d like.”
The laughing song continued on
And though I wished to join the song
I continued falling through the air
Then came to earth and waited there.

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