it’s like this
there will always be days
stretched tight
by the too dry skin
of living
there will always
be evil
rubbing shoulders
with light
always be witches
dancing circles
at night
always a cloud
blotting out
the gold sun
always loss and possibility
mixing chance
in roiling ocean
it doesn’t have
to be enough
or even
filling
warmth is the illusion
of life
parody is pure
in the blossom of sight
and green things grow
from the cracks
in black ice
.
.
.
April 30th, 2017 at 4:13 pm
thank god for those green things. and for you. and for this past month that you thought was maybe not do-able. thank you for your energy in proving that untrue.
come to think of it, YOU are a green thing. 🙂
April 30th, 2017 at 6:11 pm
rhyme! an unexpected treat.
that black ice..here. it’s oil, about to again be pulled onto beaches by unaudited wells, the clean up left undone, or tasked to an emasculated EPA.
sigh.
May 1st, 2017 at 12:36 am
I am so enjoying your poems and this one is no exception. I will need to catch up it seems. Be well.
May 5th, 2017 at 5:21 pm
This is a great poem, loved this take on non-duality.
June 22nd, 2017 at 7:12 pm
Hey, is everything ok? I haven’t seen you online lately…
concerned, Mosk