O Cyclone Alfred, wheel of might,
Dancer upon the storm-cloaked height,
Thy roaring breath, the ocean’s hymn,
Thy fingers tear the heavens dim.
The cloudbuster’s fingers grasp the air,
Like a prophet’s hand in silent prayer,
Calling forth the hidden streams,
Drawing thunder from the seams.
What hand could bind thee, sky-born King?
What voice but Love’s dare rise and sing?
Not iron rods nor tubes of steel,
Nor Reich’s bold craft thy course repeal.
But lo! Another force unseen—
A voice where stone-cold walls convene,
Where bunker’s hollowed throat resounds,
Where Time’s old laughter shakes the ground.
There, in war’s cathedral vast,
Where swastikas in shadow cast,
A single note, so frail, so bright,
Could summon dawn from endless night.
Sing! O spirit bold and wild,
Sing as sings the weeping child!
Sing to wind and wave and sky,
Sing though none may heed or sigh!
For song, like fire, doth unbind,
And Orgone leaps where chords entwine,
The breath of Life, the breath of storm,
One voice to shape, one heart to warm.
O Alfred, whirling, fierce, untamed,
Thy force and ours are but the same!
Not to conquer, not to reign,
But to dance within the hurricane.
~~
Titled: Ode to the great bunkers of WWII
To the series: hashem a la carte | shalom einz zwei drei
"A balsam. And an idea to sing to the wind, to howl to the storm, to delight with the greatness. If we would have the ability to enter the inner chambers of the enlarged auditorium of the WWII german occupation bunker with a resonating accoustics of a Sydney opera house, there and therein a gentle voice would be able to hose the cyclones" ~ to Jeunae Rogers && Jeunae Elita
#actsofdeliverance