Let me imagine that we will come again
when we want to and it will be spring
We will be no older than we ever were
The worn griefs will have eased like the early cloud
through which morning slowly comes to itself
~ W. S. Merwin, To Paula in Late Spring
I miss the sound of poets voices, the way they use the rhythm of words to soothe my spirit and awaken my soul.
I miss the sound of heroes voices, their challenge to my self absorption and cowardice through their personal service and sacrifice.
I miss the sound of my parents voices, their refusal to give up and give in, to accept the world they inherited without giving everything they had to try to change it for the better
I miss the sound of moral voices, unstained by greed and lust, uninterested in power and prestige, unaffiliated and unafraid.
I miss the sound of a leader’s voice, quietly strong when all those around are raging, compassionate when addressing the powerless, humble though surrounded by the trappings of success and the fawning of sycophants, unflagging in the pursuit of justice and opportunity for all.
I miss the sound of my youthful voice, hopeful in the face of war and racism, unashamed of naiveté, unsilenced by bullies, undaunted even in defeat.
I miss the sound of America’s voice, united and unique among the billions throughout our world, determined to defend the defenseless, to share our blessings, to deserve the admiration and respect of every human for our determination to do better, to be better, to offer a glimpse of the goodness that can be.
If yours is one of those voices, please speak loudly.
We need to hear you. At least, I do.