Love as a Testimony Against Madness

The Bus Comes

There must be love remaining.
I believe in love
In spite of things said
And deeds done or hate.
There must be love
In the space of things—
Worlds turning and fixed
Stars burning.

Love does remain.
It is deep in a child’s eye
in wonder at a pink ribbon,
water falling,
a china cup, a gold ring,
a healing kiss on the forehead.

Children know love
and flowers.

Love keeps the Michaelmas Daisies
blooming beside the gas station door,
in spite of dust
and the oil splashed sidewalk.

Love is in the fragrance
that lingers around the altar rail,
After the lilies and the carnations
have been taken out
to lie beside the new coffin.

Love lives and is vital
in the mien of those
who sit on facing benches
in quiet meeting houses,
Praying in silence,
in strong silence,
that reaches out and embraces
all gypsying thoughts
and gathers them in
to be blessed.

Love is the promise,
“I will not leave you comfortless.”
Comfortless in a deep shadowed crevice,
deprived of the newness of morning,
The arch of noon,
The purple royal,
Surrounding the pin oaks at evening.

I must believe in love
As a testimony against madness
and war and broken promises.
I choose love.

The Bus comes,
The train leaves on schedule
And love, arriving or departing,
remembers me.

— Helen Morgan Brooks, 1990
Quaker poet and teacher