I don't consider myself to be a poet in any sense, I usually leave that to my more philosophical friends...but sometimes, I feel the need to write things down. Just fleeting feelings that are hard to explain...
The Earth's Lament
I recall the days,
not long ago
(at least to you and I)
when my children,
then still young at heart,
had time to see the sky
--your magic was the subject, then,
of lore now long-forgotten
and none ever knew
if you were made
of cheese or wild tree cotton--
they knelt to me
and gave me thanks
and tilled, and sowed and reaped
then looked to you,
for in their eyes
in magic were you steeped
and see them now,
these children grown,
who once used to adore
they cover me
in bright little lights
and I feel your light no more
Sometimes I go up to the terrace when the power is out in the summer heat...and the Moon is the brightest and most beautiful thing...I wonder if anyone else is looking at her, or are we all too busy in our lives...?
-Keep smiling
