A Banquet

How many more horrors must humanity create
before some sort of deity deigns to arrive on the scene?
I have created my own share of trouble causing hurts
I never meant to inflict upon those whose love surrounds me.
Paradox happens, says a cute bumper sticker with a picture
of the sun shining through some storm clouds.  Some (many?)
helped others escape through fences and borders carrying
babies against their breast while many (most?) watched
the events on the evening news exclaiming with outrage
from comfortable chairs.  I have trouble with being simple
when a learned mystic calls for simplicity in the attentive
heart.  In my mind complexity has no home in places
where fires rage and to pause and practice any form 
of mindful breathing as bombs fall all around is a form 
of madness.  The world as infinite manifestations 
of multiplicity gets up and gets dressed every morning 
and may pay a visit, if the quiet is just right,
to a place where food has been laid out for a banquet
in the midst of fallen down buildings where ashen-faced
people arrive as if delivered by angels.

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