Mud is trampled

under fighting feet

angry shouts

and dying love

where is hope

where is God

in these battles

against divine peace

looking around

all around the killing fields

there are flower gardens


listening for the whispers

under the running babble of troubled voices

there are birds of harmony


and these prompt other questions

does the truth of beauty still in the world

despite the best efforts of human experts

offer evidence

for the grace of God

does sound of nature singing

despite the racket of a band of tyrants rehearsing

offer clues

that we were created for a different life

than a hopeless

and violent prison

of sin



Reality is there

in the rope winding

around the truth


and I am secured

in this port

of your promises

even as the waters of the bay

shiver with the bitterness of the season

I am kept warm

in the yellow light of your cabin

even as the wind whistles on



Faith is drowning in distraction

your doubtful eyes

focus only on what they can see

and overlook the hints of light

that give away the secret

of a morning about to rise

as the wild horses of wind are dragging us over

the water and the night

hope is sinking in a sea of despondency

my broken heart beats

out the rhythm of memories

trying to overpower the melody of a future

about to come

even as we pass that old lighthouse

pointing to a place long forgotten


the harbour we used to dock in

is that where you are sailing

is that really where my boat is turning

I believe


I believe

the clouds are changing

into the clothes of dawn



Tree branches can only reach higher

if there are roots

that have dug themselves into the ground

love cannot be gained through force

but only through giving

of yourself

a flower can only burst into the sun

after a seed dies

in the belly of the earth

truth suffocates in the arms of over protection

but blossoms

in the untamed winds of freedom

fields of wheat can only turn golden

if they have been watered by the storms

of the summer

a child can only gain strength

by lifting the weight

of the world where they are born

birds can only experience the joy of migration

if they are willing to leave where they’ve always been

and paddle a sky of paths they have yet to learn



Water falls

dancing in circles

tumbling in the cold

water is maturing

changing form

and a sparkling molecule is slowly born

a snow flake like a feather

floating on the sea

settling on the shore

a small wisp of wonder

in the arctic air

flowing around my face

like a river

flooding the frozen land

where I wander



Turning wheels


and progress



and pride

are the dirt in the system

creating friction


and fire

smoking circles


and failure

only by removing all the sin

corrupting the machine

can the car move in freedom

(if the driver is willing to leave

behind where they were)

turning wheels


and progress

are the only reward

for what was lost



Kelvin Bueckert

Lives and writes on the plains of Manitoba, Canada…he is an actor, writer, and has also been known to peddle books on his website…