Resurrection Poem by Albert Ralph

Resurrection



RESURRECTION
April 7 – 14th,1983 with Sam Carvello


Freedom sings a hopeful song , in the morning.
And though, sometimes freedom flies, without a warning.
Every day’s a new day
Every sunrise brings new hope.
Freedom sings a hopeful song, in the morning.

Lovers of light, sowers of seeds,
Though the task seems futile, its time to do your deeds.
Singers of love, poets of peace,
Though the ground seems barren, its time to sow your seeds.

Looking through a star,
Finding it’s not far.
Echoing waves from a pebble,
Traverse your endless mind.
Windows, creeping eyes,
Are staring into old horizons.
Trees, standing tall, still after the storm.

Stories we have told,
Dreams that we behold
Waterfall plays sweetly on
The winter’s melting ice.
Our lives refreshed
we carry on with renewed step,
setting our manner in search of endless truth.

The river slips between muddy banks
Two souls give thanks,
For a journey on the wind,
A memory of what has been.
(Skipping stones, …….. a million violins)
A love of knowing, what will come, will come.
And love will triumph in the end. The end.
(everlasting love)

Wondering at the fallen tree,
Grieving at its years.
Its towering strength, now returning to the earth.
The broken reeds at the water’s edge,
Strewn in desolate disarray,
Walking through the aftermath,
Of winter’s killing cold.
Yet the robin sings of rekindled hope;
The rebirth of spring.

For if the seed does not fall to the earth and die,
It remains alone.
But if it falls and dies,
It will one day spring from the earth,
With new life, bearing fruit.

Freedom sings a hopeful song , in the morning.
And though, sometimes freedom flies, without a warning.
Every day’s a new day
Every sunrise brings new hope.
Freedom sings a hopeful song, in the morning.
In the mourning,
In the morning

Sun-dogs, crying in the twilight
They shall be fed, they shall be fed.
Freedom sings a hopeful song
In the morning.
Children hunger for warmth at home’s door.
They shall be fed, they shall be fed.
Freedom sings a hopeful song
In the morning.

April 7th,1983

From a day spent at Claireville in the spring.
Witnessing the devastation caused by the winter, but then seeing new life springing up all around.
Then the sun-dogs in the sky, and that Sunday afternoon feeling, after coming in from a chilly day, and gathering together for Sunday dinner.

You know it signifies the end of the weekend, yet the glow of family outshines any discomfort. This fundamental dichotomy of humanity is as old as the 7-day week. 'I want the weekend to last forever, but I also want Sunday supper.' This crosses many (but not all) poverty levels. Or it used to.... when people cared about Sunday. You cry out for freedom from religion, and occasionally rightly so, but at the same time, you throw the baby out with the bath water. +
Still, even with the most modest of homes, people still found a way to make Sunday dinner special. It wasn't the food I think, but the willingness to let one's own life take a back seat, if only for a few hours, for the sake of family, or community.

This sounds like such a little thing, but stolen from a society, soon begins stealing away the very fabric.

I have had my qualms about the Catholic church over the years, but the one thing that they did better than anyone else, was build a community. Perhaps its a quaint 'French-Canadian' notion, but I could identify a member of the local Catholic parish from fifty yards away, and I went to public school and a Baptist Sunday School.
I was on a first name basis with 'Father George Flager' for many years, yet I was not a 'member of his flock'
Yes, there may be plenty to pick at, and reasons to fear or distrust the church, I suppose. I have never found one, but have heard many. The bottom line is this. They never done me wrong.

For every bad story about a 'choir-boy' there are 100,000 good stories that aren't told.

The song is not about catholics. It is about nature, replenishing itself after the winter. It is not about religion at all. It is about recharging one's own batteries over a weekend. It is about retreating, then reclaiming. The future looks futile from the point of view of a seed...but for the plant that follows................

But... I digress........

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