The Prophets

Long ago, they sang of the prophets,

And the written words that you would find,

On subway walls and tenement halls,

But alas, humanity paid them no mind.

And just as the Greeks ignored Cassandra,

Though her prophecies, they were always true,

We heard their music and we did not listen,

And with time the struggles only grew.

Instead, we chose to silence their voices,

Washing the walls, demolishing halls,

We pushed the prophets to the outer fringes,

Where no one can hear their common calls.

Perhaps their words, they mattered not,

But that we should know the prophets, yes,

Not the mighty in their power and pride,

But those oppressed, who face distress.

Instead, we look to institutions of old,

Priests who preach, safe in their church,

Businessfolk with their keys to success,

And learned scholars with all their research.

But is it not written from ages passed,

“Blessed are the poor in spirit,

For theirs is the kingdom of heaven…”?

Yet, today, it seems, we still do not hear it.

The poor and downtrodden, who are without,

They know what matters in this fleeting life,

And the widows and orphans, much have they lost,

Confronting death, they have suffered its strife.

And the refugees who seek solace abroad,

The immigrants who chase every opportunity,

“Otherness” they know, excluded from the fire,

But it is we who fail to see our unity.

Those who suffer, they see through the veil,

They glean a wisdom not learned from books,

Are we ashamed or afraid they could be us,

And so, ignore them, diverting our looks?

Why do we fear the outcasts of society?

Why do we discount the truths they know?

If we would dare to look into their eyes,

Might we finally see our own shadow?

Remove the illusion of this physical world,

All that’s left is the spirit, we’d see our soul,

Then might we know the prophets as they are,

And finally comprehend we’re all part of the whole.

And still today, the prophets speak their words,

Though we’ll find them not in hallowed halls,

Nor on phones or billboards or on grand marquees,

But in encampments beyond our made-up walls.

And the wisdom of the prophets is for all to hear,

For it is in their stories where we learn their guidance,

If only we’d listen to the narratives they tell,

If humbly in their presence, we can sit in silence.

~Inspired by the song, The Sound of Silence, written by Paul Simon where the “words of the prophets are written on subway walls and tenement halls and whispered in the sound of silence.” The song never reveals the prophets’ words, but rather, only where they (the words and by incorporation, the prophets themselves) can be found. Perhaps that is the message we needed to hear.

Dane Dowell

July 31, 2024