Cries Of The Storm Child Poem by Maurice Rowlands

Bearing the Southern wind
We’ll wander through the winding paths
Of the dying forests
We’ll creep through the rising heat
Of the deserts

Past their rusty old tanks
We won’t give thanks
To their apparent immortal souls
Because angels won’t give passage
Through the gates
Through their ranks

Bearing the Eastern Sun
We’ll meander through Oriental water gardens
Of pink blossom filled trees
We’ll wade along the ridged slopes
Of the opium fields that once bore rice plants

Past their outdated old landmines
We won’t give a thought
To their stagnant hatred
Because the ghosts won’t allow access
Through their portals
Through their vast numbers

Bearing the Northern frost
We’ll walk huddled together over the melting ice sheets
Of the glaciers
We’ll climb the summits of the once snow capped mountains
And sit at the top on dry rocks

Past the toxic air
We won’t take a breath
Of its lethal fumes
Because the spirits won’t allow its entrance
Through the clouds
Through the heavens

Bearing the Western storms
We’ll fall to our knees
Only to be engulfed in eternal night
Filled with Occidental might
Because the storm child’s cries will not be heard
Through the ever rising seas
Through the ever failing light