Introspection In The Cold

Tonight snow is descending on the white
Housetops of Athens.  Culture is immured.
The Parthenon is shrouded from the sight,
The footprints of philosophers obscured.
We shiver in a winter of the soul.
Dancers are immobile, singers mute,
Four horseman ride again, and the bells toll
In Dublin, in New York City, in Beruit.
We practice what the gods themselves abhor.
There is no war but an unholy war.

But winters thaw.  In our divisive land
Where Ares and Apollo jointly reign
We know that spring will have its season and
Peace will illuminate the darkling plain.
We know because benevolence and faith
Outarm the dark.  We know because they bring
Assurance that love’s victory is no wraith;
Not war, but living, is a holy thing.
Look eastward.  Whatever darknesses there are,
Somewhere a sun is rising, somewhere a star.