Covid, Ukraine, Climate

At the edge of all storms
is a golden light: I misquote
as usual, and with intent.
I can’t write about the end
of storms and golden skies
because emergencies, storms,
surge on and on, in perpetuity.
Conflicts in Syria, Iraq, Afghanistan;
persecuted peoples like Tamils, Roma,
Chinese Uyghurs and many, many more.
Always. it has been so, even when we chose
not to notice crosses others bore: burdens
on sore, bent and broken backs. Brittle
ribs caged, to protect crushed hearts.
Despite this, think on: stars
still glow at midnight behind
inked, crepuscular clouds. Auras
of light penetrate doom and,
at intervals, their gentle halos
shine bright with golden light.

Ceinwen Haydon
 
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Ceinwen Haydon would be pleased to hear them.