Under the Sun

Had we but lives longer than

the blink of an eye,
would we spy the wheel we’re tied to,

and from the clod,
would we look to the sky?

Long ago, it was pronounced:
no matter where you look,
where you run,
there is no new thing

under the same old sun.

The king is dead, long live the king!
O, but winter has always been,
and is still followed by spring.

Hush now, hush,
do you hear the wind
as it moves across the pond?

The leaves rustle,
the dogs in the distance bark,
and atop a tree
sings a lovely little lark.

Never do they debate,
make demand, or with you vie,
but as softly as a feather
falls upon the forest floor,
they whisper and sigh:

How long will you crawl,
when you could
grow wings and fly, fly, fly!

 

Reviews

[emmajoygreen]

' it was pronounced:
no matter where you look,
where you run,
there is no new thing

under the same old sun.'

Perhaps we need taste rather than merely nibble! A mere glance, a brief pause, gives little more than a shadow. Surely we need substance to grow wings and fly off and away into.. who knows!

[jacob erin-cilberto]

this poem moves and rustles with a steady beat...I think if it were a plane rather than a poem it would take off quite nicely...and the audience would be looking up in awe.
j.