A newborn lamb tumbles from
the ewe and eye can see each
other as we were. Stifled
days melted into fevered
calm each summer night. Like the
muffled shush of title waves
lapping against the chapters
of pebbled shores. Reaching down,
two hearts beat as three. Long limbs
of pale repose and childlike
weariness brushed the craggy
rim. The gray horizon, but
for this, careened across our
foggy minds relentlessly.
We saw the figure on the
rim. Holding close, our bodies
were our grassy shields. Getting
on, getting on. This native
wine will quench a thirst. As for
stoking fires, that time is past,
buried in a summer sleep.
Poor men wander in their dreams.
And freed men wonder in their
boots. The beaten wed their hopes
and flesh. The gaps in rank and
order mesh. Not really. But
the image is enough two
face the mal, the nameless mal.
Neighbors are nameless,
and enemies are faceless.
Objectors detained
on charges which are baseless.
Heroes and villains.
Philosophies and causes.
Running unbridled,
reluctantly he pauses.
Groping and grasping.
What's really worth defending?
Caring, despairing ...
this song and dance is ending.
With everyone pretending,
no problems needed tending,
no fences needed mending.
Since wars are always pending,
and truth was made for bending,
who in all this world is worth befriending?