This poem is for President Elect Barack Obama... and hope.
How is it possible-
that, in an age of such a shredded foundation,
that, in an age of such unprecedented warring,
that, in an age of such unequaled corruption and
terrible sadness, a moment as this could come?
How is it possible-
that, after such machinations of greed and hubris,
we have the power to have witnessed this;
the moment now bending its light upon us,
directing us forward to our better selves?
How is it possible-
that we now proceed with this stunning milestone,
that we march onward in the footprints of revolution
though the course is not curved of our choosing
and the strident shriek of the dying covers our skies?
How is it possible-
that we have stumbled to our rightful place of account,
wandered in on such lustrous and cheerful promise
standing now before our grasp, yet still untaken,
unused, and ready for our hands to shape into our art?
How is it possible-
with the end written before the bright and new beginning,
with our expectations rutted in dishonest obligation,
with the world’s eyes having peered down into our shame,
that our pathway is not ruled by immeasurable detonation?
How is it possible-
that, with such divergence and fragmentary mourning,
with stained waters and sky distorting our reflection,
with our differences still hidden in the visage of ghosts,
we were able to land here without knowing what’s next?
How is it possible-
that the air that we scorch doesn’t blink or make a sound
as we push and shove our burning way through it
with sorrow at our flank speaking of others as mere fodder
for our wholly unrestrained hubristic nourishment?
How is it possible-
that this plot has begun at the end of such torturous ire,
at the back of gloom instead of the heart of illumination?
That this moment even has words like hope and change within it
is certainly the most astounding thing of all!
© 2008 mrp/tpm
