Tuesday, March 29, 2022

Poem One

The mist exists
Because we want answers
To the things that are not real
After all

Our suffering
Takes place in a bowl
Of no reply,
Just the music and the dancing,
No inkling why

Except the way the patterns feel
Compassion for us is denied,
Whatever gazes are grouped above the dome
Or meek calls we make to a home.

It is something for life
Not for us,
The turning we cause,
The sweetest rewards
Learned sour.