Chaos echoed off canyon walls
Reverberating then descending like hail
Burying me beneath a waterfall
Of anarchy banshees’ howling rail.
Striking out, parrying all I could,
Increasing my normal intensity;
Striving not to be misunderstood,
Ignorant of their scheming propensity.
Though I felt fatigue coming on
I pleaded with myself to endure,
Searching for reservoirs to draw upon
And not give in to despair’s allure.
“Slow down, my son, slow down;
Your arms swing wildly to no effect;
This battle you don’t fight alone
Nor is it yours to direct.”
No voice spoke, no words pronounced,
Just the wind blowing where it will,
Silently sounding the truth to announce,
"This is a time to be still.”
Listening then I heard the river speak
As it rolled along the canyon’s floor,
“What is it, my son, that you seek?”
Only that and nothing more.
Startled I stopped and looked around
Wondering from where the words came
While the falling hail continued to pound
On me with a marksman’s aim.
"Our numbers are greater than our foe
You must open your eyes to see"
Sang the silent wind, as before,
As it whispered through the trees.
"Breathe deep, my son, breathe deep;
You see from the wrong point of view,
For as they sow so shall they reap;
Under the sun there is nothing new.”
Seeking the source in order to implore,
The hail’s aim was now ill;
Though falling, it never touched me more
Even though I was standing still.
Not needing to repel every volley
I could clearly see the landscape;
Setting aside my natural folly
Opened my way of escape.
The word came to me in my hour
Of need, putting my fear at bay;
Realizing that chaos had no power
Encouraged me on my way.
