all these people with all their dreams
all their clumsy solutions
the fears they wear like tattered cloaks
to keep you from seeing the needs
that are eating them up underneath
they always do
they inspire me to despair
they still think life will be fair
that one day we will all fall in love
that dreams lie in reach tomorrow
that they don't have to be alone
one day they will beat sorrow.
Just look at them.
and then look again
these people and their passions
their hopes and their homes
so separate from us
they shake their heads and say
oh these poets and philosophers.
all children are poets
poets who survive adolescence
with all its clumsy dreams and stumbling vocabulary
grow into philosophers
who sit and wish and wonder
why the world works works works away
then the philosophers gather together
with all of their nothings to say
stand and say good bye
and walk into the night
they wander and fall by the wayside
how the statistics lie to us
telling us about the homeless, the hopeless,
about the philosophers and poets
not in so many words.
The mortality rate is high
when you look to humanity
to be inspired.
1 comment:
your observations astound me, as always.
Post a Comment