Sunday Evening

April 19, 2016 at 9:44 am (Poems) (, , , , , , )

Inquisitor

Can you find me a fish that is holy,

as you say you wish us to be?

It is tidal, this water we’re swimming,

and it’s teeming with difficulty.

 

We live in contextual rockpools,

and cling to our rocks when it rains,

so principled thought might cause ripples,

that shatter our barnacled brains.

 

Can you find me a state that is noble?

Doesn’t sell out for money or power?

Incorruptible in all its dealings?

Or does sweetest milk always turn sour?

 

Father

If we cared a bit more about people,

they might regrow their courage and strength

and cling less to the rocks that divide us,

and believe they can swim the whole length.

 

The oceans of mind would flow outwards

our fellows in plight would walk on,

not burdened with mass self-destruction…

Believe it or not, we are one.

 

 

 

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