It has always been
the ebb and flow.
The tide recedes
and invades.
The summer sun.
The spring time rain.
Mountain run off
floods the plain,
and washes all of us away.
The playful hands.
The kindest face
becomes enraged
and fists and claws replace
trust and everything.
Give a little take.
Take a little more.
Smells like something died
under the snow,
and it’s rotting
as the weather warms.
This is it;
A vicious cycle
of vicarious abuse.
Eating what’s before us,
not because it’s good for us,
but because we’re afraid
of being rude.
That’s enough of that.
“Good enough” was never true.
We lied to the sky
and painted blue
that ceilings of our jail cells,
but it wasn’t the perfect hue.
Long overdue
for a spring time rain to come.
Gotta wash it clean,
before the summer sun
sets in,
and the flies hatch.
Yeah,
I think this year’s gonna be bad.
So,
I think I’ll keep on
waiting on the next one.
I should probably keep my guns,
because,
well;
you never know.
When the ice flows
block the roads
and the tide comes in.
Here we go again.
Waiting on that spring time rain.
HG – 2020
