First Sunday of Advent
A Poem
Futility paces cynically
behind the bars of the possible.
The border of the real
encircles what you may hope.
The seen delimiting your dreams.
Prophecies and promises swirl in challenge
to shriveled, shrunken ontologies.
We start, anew, the seasonal test
to view a farther horizon.
Thank you.
Dr Beck, i discovered you earlier this year, shortly after I discovered Substack. I appreciate very much what you write, how you write, and that you write. This past Tuesday, after i read your ‘first Sunday of Advent’ poem, i have hardly stopped thinking about it. At first I thought, “Huh, ‘So this is Christmas. And what have you done?’” Then it struck me that, futility actually does pace cynically behind the bars of the possible. And with a deeper and better understanding of hope, I am “starting anew, to view a farther horizon”, no matter how high they stack the bodies. Thank you for sharing your gift.