The Stealing Of Beauty

Someone once asked me as to why I wrote so much of darkness and death.

I thought for a minute and tried to come up with a plausible reason.

I was stunned by the fact that at that time I was not even sure why.

I can’t even remember what my reply was, but it did get me to thinking.

Darkness and death, what indeed was this fixation,

 and why was there such passion to write about it?

I recalled many things of the past to my mind in order to answer this question.

 I even remembered being a purveyor of death itself.

Yes…I killed living things, and inwardly I hated doing it.

Then one day, the killing stopped, and the guns were put away.

It was then, that telling of my true spirit began to gnaw its way to the surface.

I now watched, listened and learned.

I became engrossed in the birth of a beautiful flower from a tiny seed.

I became enamored over the rituals of birds as they wooed their mates.

And I cried when the flower faded,

and the birds succumbed to the harsh winters day.

I grieved with those who grieved the loss of a loved one, though they knew it not.

I helped those I could, when it was in my power to do so,

And when it was beyond me…for them I did pray.

In truth, what was born out of death, from a saddened past,

has become a way of life for me today.

For if it has life…be it animal or plant, I will strive to protect.

You see…I now know why I write so much of the darkness

I know why I generate the sad poems of death.

For I write of what I abhor the most…

The suffering, the injustice and the stealing of beauty…

Which is life itself…

P

Oh God… this world which you have by your hands created

Is so beautiful…the trees, the grasses, and all creatures great and small,

I marvel in wonderment of your power…

And I stand in awe of it all.

So please God…spare us all from the darkness that comes.

Deliver us now into the everlasting light.

For I cannot bare to see the suffering

 or death of any living thing…anymore.

Life is beautiful…life is precious

J. Allen Wilson © 2005