If ecstacy could languid be
In leisured measured pace,
As in a roll ‘neath lazy waves
Or torpid liquid space.

If lack of frenzy hindered not
A fervent, vivid joy,
Or hampered passions reaching high
In somnolent deploy.

Perhaps such glee see manatees
Through languid, liquid eyes
The world as vast and slower bliss
Than quicker sights apprise.

And if indulgent wisdom comes
Through pacing down our lives,
Perhaps in rest are lessons taught
Our frenzied lives deprive.

Must come a time when all we see
Is nature cast in steel?
No creatures left,
Wan zoo…bereft,
Of means to bless or heal.

A zoo without a life or soul.
A sterile, puerile space.
Stale mockery,
Pale mimicry
Of life’s abundant grace.

Perhaps we’d still post happy smiles,
Just pass another day,
Our children shriek
Amidst their bleak
Though bright facade’s decay.

I fear too late we’d mourn that choice,
Too late we’d count its cost.
We’d come to rue
Our metal zoo,
And grieve at all we’d lost.

Yes, rather a cliché s title and picture during this cicada swarm summer, but there seems little more relevant image at this moment of din outside my door.

Had I a life beyond my own,

Alternate senses, fancies grown,

I’d glimpse green leaves ‘gainst bright blue sky,

Ride wind blown twigs,

Tread currents high.

Had I daft dreams beyond cave nights,

Winsome hopes, un-sown heights,

I’d shed this skin too small to hold

Wild dreams, vast visions – rare and bold.

Had I a chance to draft new mark,

Undo dark years of burrow stark

I’d trade those years of darkened maze,

For these few brief and frenzied days.

Surface, visible – vibrant life

Moss, dwarf iris and more.

Underneath, hidden – rock’s veiled essence.

Inner strength or sterile core?

We plead for substance,

We weep at barrenness,

One chooses.