Beginning Again Poem by Scott J. Shepard

This is the beginning,
not of war or a lord of such;
no projectile pressed toward the sky
to land like malice.

Not a syllable seldom sweet,
only softening the sound of conflict
as if resolution,
the hand that quakes earth
shakes the world's agreement for humankind.

Plots of empty soil
encasing dissonant landscapes
underbrush who we once were.
A boundless reach establishes some city skyline
though a haunting humility steps back,
settling for a small clear patch
where understanding prospers gradual like a channel,
conscious as a corridor towards what becomes the river.

And so, this is the start.
We unpack our things piece by piece
because they are all we need
and they bring us peace
because war is a distant memory
that we don't need.
Only the storm is a force,
but we would need the storm
because it would feed our channel
and we would need our channel
because we understand it
and it understands us.

The hand molds;
shapes like a spade
scoops the soil.

They are miniature explosions
though we do not suffer,
explosions of growth only lay amidst.

Unpacking our belongings,
A young flower seedling begs
to touch the sky once more.
As if it were it's elders
who once gave life anew.
The past, not a thing undone
but begins again and starts where we are.
The pieces continue on.