by John Krohn PhD

Created on: September 06, 2008

Helium: A Voice upon the Wind

Turbulent is the sea this night; it swells and churns amidst the acrid scent of raw emotion.
There is upon the wind, anguish fed terror and rage filled pain; cascading tumults of power.
Beneath the surface of froth and foam, below visible reality, a war has touched the sea.
A living wound is bleeding, as the sounds of booming cannons belch forth destruction.

Sorrow cries out from the depths of the ocean as toxic waste poisons and destroys the living.
Breakers crash, submissive and spent against jagged rocks, as do whales in terror from afar.
There is silent weeping as pollutants castrate the sea as living lights of creation are dying;
inverted sea galaxies of life-stars begin to die; a black hole below, void and without spirit.

Anguish whispers in the wind from dreams that are conceived yet die stillborn this night.
A village has no food and no medicine to comfort the dying as mothers hold lifeless babes.
Angry weeping filled with hopelessness as fathers hoe fields of dry sand tilling only despair.
Ashamed, they dig graves, not furrows for wheat, and the sea carries away their bitter tears.

The misty night breathes tears of time upon my face; I taste my own tears upon my silent lips.
I feel upon the waters the spirits of lost souls with no voice as genocide ravages a village.
Rumbling through the night, it races unchecked and haughty and evil; a serial tsunami killer.
This night a people are becoming extinct but they can only whimper like the ebbing tides.

Slowly, through the rolling turbulence and cresting waves, a mirrored sky awakens the dawn.
Sunlight beams forth and I am bathed in golden hue, skipping past me to kiss the morning.
A rainbow reaches forth to fill my vision, and hope is borne as the sea echoes gentle sighs.
Sunrise is robed in crimson amber, and it kisses the silvery mist with healing light.

Can one become a voice of those lost in bitter storms that are ships without rudders or sails?
I kneel at such a weighty task, and grip handfuls of ashen sand that feels like crushed bones.
How can one voice be heard, amidst the discordant collision of chaotic noise and dissonance?
By our written voices, truth is etched upon parchment, as Helium becomes a wind of new hope.

Learn more about this author, John Krohn PhD.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.