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

[Fabian G. Franklin]

A person can't truly realize their potential when they are satisficed with the status quo. Sometimes unrest is needed to spur the horse of change. Your observations and perspectives are eloquently expressed here. Great work. F.

[Betty Hermelee]

Sometimes we take things for granted...the color of fall leaves, the silence of a winter snow, the sun shining upon us...sometimes we realize our life is passing us by without all the things we want to accomplish...but when we stop to take a deep breath and look around at mother nature, and how it is so mysterious is can be; perhaps we shall have renewed hope...
Warmly, B

[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.