Oh, Hope.
Your voice shouts from the driest soil;
From bellies that crumble.
Golden wheat grumbles and faints,
Crushed underfoot.
Nature transcending religion waiting
To be plucked.
Ripe for the picking,
But Shabbat was
Present.
All others
Limped past,
Ignoring
The Feast.
Until One.
Oh, Healing.
The withered hand impossibly stretches,
Blinding all watchers with wonder.
Hope catches in the step and rhythm,
Curing the heart.
Joyously lit by expectancy
To become.
Ready for the Returning,
Restoration is
Now.
All hustlers
Rat racing,
Asphyxiating.
We breathe
As One.
This poem was inspired by the Chosen (Season Two, Episode Six)
Ronne Rock’s One Woman Can Change the World
