Our Burning Bushes

by

Joris John Heise

Each hour burns with a billion Horeb bushes:
They are the courage-cost—with care and gentleness—
To face the faceless lies that form inside of us—

The burn of being branded by our own convictions
Where logic wrestles love about the loss of life,
And hope’s a false sun for lonely long lassitudes.

Powerlessness and poverty can be a boss of self
While patience fails to sift away the searing sneers;
Defeat prefers distant Horeb to more ambiguous Egypts,

But we meet The Master both remote from men
And in congested throngs of all us gesturing Jews
Who have the habit from our running history—

For Hebrews were the Jews and are the us,
Each us beholding bushes that brighten souls' eyes
And transform defeat and fear to hard-won heavens—

Each of us the Moses going forth from bondage
To hardship, enterprise and ripening glory.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at HAIR TODAY
by: Paul Curtis
from: Woking, England, UK

To visit all of Joris John Heise's poems, click HERE

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