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Is It True (For Hans, with love) Fred Houpt [boyboy_8@yahoo.com] Is it true, Lord? That if we bend down far enough We will reach through to the other side Emerging like roots into another realm Where we take hold of another air And breathe us fresher life into newer lungs? A man afloat on a small raft Adrift on a sea that could be the Size of a planet it seems to him And rages of strange killing intent Swell all around and death hovers near Passing between crest and trough Of fear and rage, cursing and crying Is this the perfect mortar and pestle To grind the soul, to refine the little light? Hurricanes and twisters of desire ripple Over the land and very dark demons Glow in between the seeing and the taking The howling vacuums the landscape Uprooting dreams, disturbing plans, Ending hopes in energies of moving air Nothing but moving air and our desires Ice ages have locked the door to progress Volcanoes have barbequed foreclosures Earthquakes have upended predictions Comets and meteors have made a selection The sun could blow our sky away if she willed Yet we still arrogantly plant the signs "Private Property: do not trespass" As if the stars and inky night do notice You give a heart and then present the death Snatching from death those who almost go Leaving canyons of uncertain questions why The baby dies young and the ancient mariner Down the road has lost track of his age Presenting the perfect opportunity for jealousy Someone richer than imagination moves next door Even worse, we develop enemies and see them prosper Then the teachers who rotate our attention Until we are well mixed and homogenous And worse off than had we run with animals The laws, the customs, the traditions, mere Tractates that justify this and other wars All in all our ends bound up with the means National shadows that take centuries to heal What of our personal shade that we hide from? No sort of tan or burnished jewelry can distract Our private knowledge that under it all we are dirty Of the others' beliefs we cannot speak ill enough Though we have no idea what his feet feel Like walking in those shoes How do You tolerate billions of voices who All claim you to his personal jihad? Is it true Lord, that were we to sit still enough To let our roots come back the way they came Having silenced our thoughts of importance For just a few minutes, that we could remove Our selves from this devilish circus? Where all tents appear the same and a common Air flutters all flags and all anthems sing one tune? Is it true, oh Lord that we can experience all this Or is this another bubble that will have to burst? A man takes flight from his own doubts But like all good shadows He is overtaken by them In the end. |
Poem © 2003 Fred Houpt, all rights reserved
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