Wisdom in Turbulent Times by Joan Currie

The air splinters like glass–
I perch on a gnarled limb, a solitary watcher
in the fractured gloom of night,
where bitter winds gnash at a starless sky.

Below, the earth trembles with despair,
its pulse a staccato of sorrow, as the cacophony
of man’s ruin echoes through my ancient eyes.
I, the silent sentinel of twilight, bear witness
to hearts ensnared in an endless dispute.

I drift through fractured hours,
each moment a shard of broken light,
and in the rustle of dying leaves I hear
the desperate murmur of questions
scraping at the marrow of human intent.

I long for a guiding voice–
a call as steady and resolute as my own nocturnal hymn–
that might reach the steely hearts of
our world’s posturing masters,
whose empty grandstanding leaves their people trembling
at the ominous specter of what is to come.

Yet wisdom is never tender;
it is honed by the relentless edges of despair,
etched in the scars of time and the silent ache of the dark.
I, who have seen centuries unfold beneath these ageless stars,
offer my muted counsel to the chaos below.

I am afraid, yet I remain–a keeper of ancient truth–
praying that, in the echo of my solemn hoots,
a spark of reason my be kindled.
May their voices rise, clear and fierce as the cry of the night owl,
to lead us from the tempest and transform shattered hours into
the promise of a new dawn.

I pray for world peace.