Leavened Love
by Odin Roark

As bombs continue bursting
and blood glaciates
into forever rock
how will love survive?

When man’s oven cools
and a future’s menu is thought,
when will passion’s calm reappear,
mixing life’s elements into patient kneading
a preparation for peaceful offerings?

Will man’s impatience ever allow the kiln of civilization
to slowly give rise to lasting contentment,
or will habit insist on continued unleavened devouring?

Must such beast-like hunger
forever be all that is craved,
or might passion’s appetite find reward
beyond the “…pain for leaven…”
and finally realize emotion’s alternative
for feeding the heart of love?

Oh, to sit at mankind’s table,
to engage in peaceful exchange,
to reach beneath Life’s serving basket,
lift a slice or two of leavened warmth,
not to feed the mouth of gluttonous greed,
but to satiate hunger’s need to weep joy.