Light In The Loft
No ambulance siren will see me through this traffic,
no monastery will give me sanctuary.
Police cars parked on the side of the road,
waiting for the next emergency.
Down the steps, I found no shelter on the cellar floor,
no protection on the balcony.
I climbed the ladder to the tower top,
light in the loft shining steadily.
No space craft we build will ever take us to the stars,
no fertile planet waits to be our home.
We should have looked after what we had,
the desert we should not need to roam.
What does it mean to desire the peaks of power?
I tried to glimpse it but was never sure.
Over the borders come the refugees.
How heal the hearts broken by the war?
In my dream, I was walking through fields of corn on fire,
all I carried, my Bible and my cross.
Others saw me, a stranger who had lost,
no words to speak after such a loss.
My wish as a child was to be a light house keeper,
saving sailors from the rocks out at sea.
I still heard crying from among the waves,
so many fled but could not be free.
The hammer clangs on the anvil and forges the sword.
We come in peace, no weapons in our hands.
All we request is that you rule us well,
allow us to live in our own lands.
Now I climb the ladder to see the light in the loft,
look through windows that were not there before.
Somehow I know the lamp is always lit,
it will reveal the long lost, hidden door.