old disciples wait for their inheritance <br />they hear the church bells pealing <br />in another country <br /> <br />we’ve raised the sacred airy buildings <br />we’ve struggled with the pigments to create skies <br />we’ve scattered words to germinate abundance <br />and how would you describe our <br />tearing down the glory of <br />the rainforests? <br /> <br />we’ve passed on our genetic torches <br />we’ve loved and been abandoned <br />we’ve lusted and despaired and been inspired <br />and how would you describe our <br />piling up of stone and glass into a <br />vast cathedral? <br /> <br />we’ve gathered in the pumpkins from our gardens <br />we’ve set by cords of fire-wood for the winter <br />we’ve worshipped to the muslin sound of bees <br />and how would you describe our <br />plundering the carbon from this <br />precious earth? <br /> <br />we’ve dropped our youthful helpfulness <br />we’ve seen the secret signals of the master <br />we’ve heard the silence in the market place <br />and how would you describe the <br />focussed rage of we who put <br />mankind in space? <br /> <br />do not take it personally <br />you waiting old disciples <br />no need to fidget or grow fretful <br />what if we are only passing notions <br />in the revels of the <br />wiped out gods?<br /><br />rashid maxwell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-passing-notion-has-its-say/
