Will the answers come if we sit upon the rocks and wait?
Perhaps some meaning does come later
for all those words we usually fail to say?
Not being eternal, our bad choice is keeping silent.
Not being perfect the error would be to think we might be right.
Is it only you? Is it only I, who stirs the pot to boiling
and adds another log upon the fire?
Is it timing or the stars or chemicals, low sugar tides
that pull you out or pull me out, over our heads
and drown us in a rage?
Are you the driftwood churning in these waters still afloat?
Are you the stone that splits in two against my rock and
then worn smooth, we stay inert, a pile of dark-grained sand?
Is it I who’s cruel and is not Life an on-going teacher?
Is it you who’s good and caring, your first- aid kit always filling with compassion?
Who’s the bad one? Who’s the good? Who wears the villain’s part so well?
Who is innocent and who has the sympathy of the crowd that may be watching?
Is it you, or I or the planets laughing down upon us;
just when we try to build our best, it all turns into sand?
December 9th 2013
*Footnote on the Print I used above: Quoting the artist…..
“Sand Castles original painting was painted on location in Brittany. The two children scooping up the sand tried very hard to make the sand look more like a castle but to no avail. However, I gave them credit for effort.”
(The poet smiles:)