The Apology
Loving disciples of the holy order
below the bottom of the empyrean
where reverence is not yet reverent,
where demonic angels set out to rule,
where the clouds are teetering on
the fence of good and evil,
the evil at play with the devil
and the good in grace with the divine
but yet dependent upon the mood
of the wind and clime,
issue an apology for their evil deeds.
As the winds and rains flooded the land,
the devil danced with the wiles of nature.
The good sat outside the dance floor
without an invitation.
The devil spat in their faces and laughed.
The ships were tossed about.
The land was uprooted by the savagery.
The devil waived its banners in victory.
Then the sun shone through
the perforated clouds,
the tattered dresses of the skies,
the faces of the merciful,
the heroines of the heavens,
the sainted mothers of the beyond,
the spirits manifested and embodied,
the sun dressed up in its finest
heading toward its western port of call,
riding in its golden yellow carriage,
a vessel of the divine,
a spectacular image of its grandeur
heading toward day’s end,
the crimson sun shining against
the once blackened clouds,
now dressed up in flamboyant silks,
beautiful to the beholder
and apologetic to the disheartened.
Oh beautiful sun, thou face of the divine.
I wrote this in the wake of Hurricane Ida.
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