O that my head were a spring of water and my eyes a fountain of tears

 

Jeremiah 9:1

My people turn away
from light’s revealing rays,
seeking shadows.
My people stop their ears
to the cries of the lost, of cast-off wanderers,
of the unworthy and the fearful,
preferring pretty ditties of distraction.
My people build dams to hold back tears,
high walls around their hearts;
they refuse to weep or ache.
The thirsting land groans abandoned,
a salty wilderness where compassion grows limp
and wilts in rising indifference;
a desolate place where justice is found
only by digging deep below dry creek beds.
Truth, falling frail like dew before dawn,
evaporates unvalued and vanishes,
unseen by those who sleep late.
A modern luxury, who can afford it?

O that my head were a spring of water
and my eyes a fountain of tears;
and that grace might flow
like a never-ending stream!

© Ken Rookes