Hope (9/14)

There is nothing here,

a wasteland

smiling out of the craters

on the highlands of the mind.

  But aren’t there some things that are not wasted?

There are truths to find

which are harder to grind

a tooth upon

than the bread that you eat.

The soul is hard to clean

but green is the sheen

of a leaf, a life, in the wind

past the craters’ great mouths.

Things go south

but the soul is north,

and let’s go forth

to the fields of no disaster;

There is no master

but the self-possessed.

Lest we rest

in the sleep of the not-so-blessed,

let us keep walking and waking,

not forsaking

any pain or pleasure.

Let us care for ourselves

and the people around us,

even if we do so with a longing

not quite fulfilled,

above our heartbeats.

In the pendulums of fortune

and the metronomes within us,

find the swing

that perhaps shall bring

the chance for might

or freedom.

     It is a good music,

     and louder than the birds.

2nd week of September, 2014