by Jay O'Toole
We live much of life amid unique choices. Joy is anchored in The One beyond our life.
So battered from the jarring winds of time,
we brace for onslaught yet to come, again.
A people reeling. Are we past our prime?
The hope for peace rests solely on a win.
Some red, some blue, but change is through the air.
Go left. Go right. Go east. Go west. Go south.
The floods of thought are often in despair,
"Will hopeful days be ours or will they rout?"
The viral winds of sickness and demise
have blown unrest into each cow'ring face.
Economy, the land's uneasy prize.
Each ship of state rows hard to miss disgrace.
Long watch we sunset with uneasy calm.
The Hand of God? Babylon's cruel psalm?
by Jay O’Toole
on September 7th, 2020