Birds of the air have nests

Let me be a bird of the air

embracing the freedom of flight,

with a nest to come home to at night.

Let me be a fox of the fields

ranging the bush and the hills,

with a sheltering hole from night's chills.

A lizard among grass and stones,

I would rest, contemplating the sun,

and retreat to my rock when day's done.

The Son of Man, we are told,

had no place to lay his kind head;

at least not until he was dead.

I would be called a disciple;

let love guide my feet as I roam

dusty paths toward my true home.

© Ken Rookes 2016

The opposite

 

The opposite of the kingdom of heaven
is that loss of spirit,
that diminution of hope,
that dark emptiness,
where the possibilities
of surprise and generosity
have been forgotten.
No seeds grow,
the birds make no nests,
and no one searches for pearls.


© Ken Rookes 2014