Something does the immaterial equivalent
of sad laughter when mortals interpret things
coincidental instead of recyclical,
and label them new and troubling
instead of old and patiently persistent.
It comes around, comes close
time and time again, often with a different face,
whatever this "it" is for you,
waiting until you're ready,
collecting until you're empty,
desiring your participation in a healing need
that began before your birth,
hoping for your seed of willingness
that will bear fruit long after you have gone.
You can pretend, for moments or years,
in obsessive and catatonic states, that it has left you
but the aggressive whisper never fades to silence.
For you to arise and to awaken, her raison d'etre;
to receive and respond righteously, yours.
If transcendence makes a come back,
we will have realized the importance of honoring history
by giving back generously to the future.