No One Knows

Given the tree of grief,

the long road of psychology,

the ancient weather of politics,

a few sad grins over beer,

I want long summer nights

to glow over the mountains

the sun to set on bliss

and leave it just so.

 

Still, the empty hands there wave

still there is more to reach for

still the eagle rises just

above the cool water.

 

A few armies of ants arrive

on the kitchen table

A few marches of syllables

appear beneath my itching fingers,

always trying to say

whatever might make time stop.

 

I strum a few tunes though

am pointless in my wayward

glance toward wilderness

toward peace

when all humanity tries

for personal justice.

 

Not enough to go around;

on the lip of the glass,

a liquid pools and breaches,

above gravity's arm

full and sweet.

Comments

[twitter.com/ChrisBoese]

I like this very much!