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