Pabline

Fall
Rise


Ocean waves laugh at
sands pretending to
be permanent and then
the people fall
off their
two legs their
brains beaming
but
the sky with teeming strength
says, 'Mother' earth only needs
what she needs.

None
of
us
are
enough
to
satisfy
the life
of
earth,
not
alone
no;
our weapons
and
plans
of war, tearing the world
over dark
green colored paper
takes nothing of
anyone's heart
but signals
the end
with
poisoned gardens;
each
life
must
as awakening
to know
the fire
and musical joy
of life
embrace
each moment.

Work
through spring
summer and
if
odds
favor our earth
rooted
even seeds will
sprout in
time
and none
will describe the
smells, sights, visions
except those
of the
golden dream;
frustrating as
it
may seem
now;
and then.

What you do
now will
matter
later to
some
one
some where in
the face
of the
sparkles
upon
the
world.

The real Earth
does not need
us.

Then
the ocean waves do
not rest ever like we do; nope
the waves do
not die,
but the
wave and stars and sun
do
not eat
nor dance
nor sing
with their throats or legs or lungs
like we do, but are
amazing in
their
presence
just the
same.

The drum,
the bass beat
of
walking
of
dancing
of love
of rhythmic
love making upon
drum skins
upon make shift
moments
and tender
kisses and not so
tender kisses
are all what we
imagined
and rested upon
with blankets tucked
and mornings slept
upon while the sun
rose while
we ignored the sun
rising one
more
time, shades drawn feeling, almost
as beautiful as
the real light awaking the
hills and
pines.

But not quite
as the fountain
of light
is
always just
and all right.