A Small Cry Hidden
by Plynn Gutman
Spoken words trick us into believing
what we say we want, we do
while hearts stay silent to the truth
of what is and really needs to be.
Truth becomes real upon reflection,
the ah-ha of seeing pieces puzzling
together on the canvas of our ephemeral
Beauty of opposites, the seesaw laughter-
tears bring us to that place where balance
resides between sunset and dawn, the in-
out companionship of our breath.
Ceremony of breath, an ancient song,
soft but urgent chirps of baby birds
hungry in hope of generation,
drops of evolution toward survival.
This bit of hope followed us here –
a small cry hidden in the human spirit,
the desperate ancillary to this specie deaf
to our own pedantics, our swaggering boast
That we know how to fix it.