The Spirit is strong (a poem, written June 27, 2006 on the Hammersmith & City line)

Behind the wrinkled, coarse, skin of the trunk
Covered by those
etching their mark
year after year;
Deep within
Runs the lymph of the Spirit -
It runs unseen, and it reaches far
From the ends of the roots
To the tips of the fruits,
And the Spirit is strong,
And the Spirit upholds me.

Within the palms of dusty hands, dirty nails, cracked skin,
Holding on, pounding hard, resilient;
Choosing to embrace a life of no choice
And living it like royalty, full dignity -
There shines the gold of the Spirit,
Refined by the test of fire.
And the Spirit is strong,
And the Spirit is free.

Above the mushroom-head clouds of
Hiroshima, NYC, Bagdad;
Against the raging seas, upon the shaking Earth,
Immeasurable fear.
Above all that reigns the light of the Spirit,
And the Spirit is strong,
And the darkness will not overcome it.

I see it, I feel it,
The Spirit is one,
Found in unassuming people.
I salute them,
A glimpse of the divine, while we wait to reach Home.