What a lazy day
might this be,
with the thunder of cicadas
washing over us–
we wander through
in a city park,
hints of the past
smooth and shiny path,
worn down by the feet
of generations before–
laughing, chasing each other,
fishing poles in hand,
Ah, the freedom of a summer day,
catching tadpoles in July.
How do we reconcile passion and civility?
How to remain true to the core beliefs, yet maintain a civil discourse?
Is peace pulled from bloodshed?
It is easy to be kind and benevolent with enough food in our stomachs, and water to drink.
The true test comes when we have compassion as we wrap the tatters of our society around our shivering bones–
when we lay across the chasm to make a bridge for the enemy to cross to safety, and resist the
urge to maintain the cycle of revenge.
12-3-12, revised 7-20-13
There were three of us, little giggling bodies
that crowded on your lap.
You told us stories, you gave us drinks and snacks.
Enfolded in your warmth, we grew and then went off on our own
to conquer the big, wide world.
You gave us freedom to explore ourselves.
Later, we came back and–
One by one, we gathered around you to say good-bye, and hold your hand
as you passed to the other world.
We proudly share you now with the universe; you are everyone’s mother.
Listen to me and see what I have learned—
We must suffer fools
we were once such as they are,
no matter how we may deny that we were—
We, too, once had
the blindness of the stars,
bleeding out words of wonder,
senseless to our own foolishness.
We stretched out our arms for understanding,
to those who were
as we are now,
wise and mocking,
blindness of another kind.