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Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #2243288
A run down shack, beckons with a painted board: Sister Moon, World Famous Fortune Teller.
Hope Comes in Mysterious Ways

Tell me, Sister Moon, what is in the cards?
Our poor world’s full of graves and scars.
Wolves at the door and vampires daily await.
Is hope found in globes, crystals, or fallen stars?

My child of woe, I have seen this illness and death.
Lies from those who sat in Pharoh’s house of evil play.
It will not always be this way, must be patient.
Listen to what I read, see, and am moved to say.

Comes a time, old rules can rise, fly away.
Masks, I see, are halloween goblins, Mardi Gras balls.
Smiles wide, folks talking neath open blue skies.
School lunch room fun, crowded locker halls.

Restaurants open, festive inside and out.
Friends shake hands, laughs bubble up like before.
Stores come to life, stocked, debit cards count.
We’re unleashed, unlocked, caged no more.

People cheer for home teams, fill lonesome venues.
Chat in line for beer and a dog, no mandatory circles.
Parents join kids at favorite haunts, grabbing menus.
Not only America. Joy, hope, and relief is universal.

Holidays, exciting plans, friends and family.
Hugs and kisses overflow, we’re free at last.
Kids can be kids, not germ carrying factories.
Churches packed, peace to each can be passed.

We have been tested, some in the worst ways.
A tiny virus, under a microscope, changed our lives.
Loved ones are gone now, taken after cruel days.
Jobs, businesses lost, mental illness came to thrive.

Strength, courage and love rise, like cream on chicory coffee.
Our ancestors roots spring up in veins, old hearts survive.
The dam held the wild river, science wins over a false prophet.
People of compassion and sense turn history’s rotten page.

The sun always brings forth life, cleans darkness away.
Fortune telling's hard work, You're my last customer today.
That'll be a hundred dollars, please.
I sure don't get Whoopi Goldberg's pay.

By Kathie Stehr
Feb 1, 2021


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