Birds Hunting Crickets
The sky is so blue you could dive right in and swim,
the sun so bright that it burns like hidden sin,
but the breeze so cool upon that sunburned skin;
I'd give a penny for your thoughts, but you're probably thinking of him,
so instead I'll just muse on truth and rule of law
and watch the birds hunt the crickets outside the coffee shop.
For all of my ills you've offered the lasting cure.
How, then, have you managed to sully everything pure
in a betrayal so great it can't be endured?
You say that you stand for those who yet need,
but you still break our hearts and leave them to bleed.
You shout that you'll save, that divisions you'll heal,
till I'm too tired to think and too numbed to feel,
but your vows are so reckless, your words can't be real.
You say that you stand for the land of the free,
but wherever you stand, you don't stand for me.
I am tired of these turns of tide.
They move first up, then down,
from pedestal, to crown,
to a dashing of my pride.
When life comes and goes in waves,
what's a lonely man to do
in an empty boat for two
with no hope of being saved?
I would be sick upon this sea,
but the waves move back and forth
between worthlessness and worth
and leave no moments free.
Too much churning in the foam
makes the yearning a dull, gray ache,
instead of a demon that takes
the heart and drives it home.
Am I going east or west?
I try for the harbor's mouth.
I go first north, then south,
and when in doubt, I guess.
But the sea's a wily maze
for unwary men unwise,
and those who the sea despise
will never find their ways.
But is there any chance
for those who fear the misty crest?
No, we must beware that fear lest
we be dizzied by the ocean's dance.
So I go, I come, I go,
and one answer alone I have found
that seems anchored to solid ground:
The god tells me I do not know.
But sometimes on moonlit nights
though the sea still will rise and fall,
the stars shine and sing their call,
standing still with unchanging light.