The bamboo whistles as night sets in
the sway of the palms, shivers his skin
and he raises his brow to the West.
Let the sun go, let it go for today.
He melts back down with a silenced
surrender, as his * Amber Alert * buzzes
from the kitchen table. * Kidnapped
Children from Miami-Dade, in Grave Danger *
Annoyed by the constant onslaught of bad news
marking the violence, of this, or that kind,
perpetuated against children, he hangs his
head down and prays. Planes and hawks
intermingle in the clouds, no real silence is found.
Calm, but not silent. Sadly, nature untouched by
human hands is a prayer unanswered.
How many times, how many times, to count the
numbers of stars he left hanging in the night
with the moon calling his name, clear as
day. He vanishes into some hurried way of
forgetting that none of it matters. Only the
way of the grey, the dark matter, the star’s vaporous
dust, the way of the sun, the way of the moon
the way of the solar flares, the explosions, only
the way of the magnetic energy and
the way of the cosmic force fields,
only they care, about the fortitude
and good fortune of the sun and moon.
#Prosepoetry #Poet #Cosmic #Writers