These Are My JOTtings...

The Cleansing Breath

The days of waiting before the storm
present as a runner's stretch
with muscles, breaths alert, alarmed,
like a sinner, known as a wretch.

The runner walks and muscles tone
an hour before the race.
The lungs are breathed, the sinews are honed,
until the dance in place.

The sinner-wretch awaits in cell
for Judgment's awful toll.
Will ax-blade end this daily Hell
or will his life be whole?

The diver checks his fins and lungs
before his record plunge.
He stretches lungs as opera's sung
of thoughts of the tenuous lunge.

And when the start-sound finally blares
with anxious breath inhaled,
runner's muscles taut and nostrils flared,
the pavement is assailed.

The jail door creaks and warden's face
appears to motion, "Out!"
In fewish minutes death or grace
bespeaks what Life's about.

The water looms and the record stares
as deeply sucking wind
The diver now must leap prepared.
His hopes and living self he sends.

The storm of great uncertainty
will test the living hopes of Man.
Some run with grace. Some dive quite free,
but all must wait to understand.

What awful hacks and spewing coughs
the storm with smoker's wheezing lungs
infects the land from hill to trough
as tempestuous, roiling song is sung!

When Niagra's rain is finally dry
and clamorous din of wind goes still,
the human heart is left to cry
and contemplate the Sovereign's Will.

Amid the "Oh, No!" of cacophonous sight,
embracing the silent, shredded "Why?"
the mind in search of needed light
can share a breath of Hope and try.

The forlorn days of aftermath
will need a cleansing breath
for Wisdom learned on the stormy path
resides in the eighth day's, Heth.

by Jay O'Toole
on September 13th, 2018