Wednesday, July 04, 2018


The tide is not my feelings, and the grass
Is not an analogue of people's hearts.
We aren't reborn whenever springtime starts,
The leaves in autumn never were a glass
Through which we see our true selves as years pass,
And thinking this is putting stupid carts
Before the horse, or blithely throwing darts
Blindfolded, like a metaphoric ass.

If we are part of nature, nature's not
A part of us. The simple beasts we are
Aren't mesmerized by rings on a sandbar,
Our unenlightened mode of careless thought,
Philosophy, deep planning, reason, plot,
Are not bluebirds. We're shining, like a star.


Post a Comment

<< Home