Somewhere, over there
Many thousands of miles
Lies my homeland
Where so much
Has gone so wrong
Democracy has been wounded
Stabbed by the flailing blind
Compelled by ignorance and fear
I don’t understand
How some can harbor so much hate
Such indecency, festering, fertilized in the dark
Fair play, they don’t understand me
With my avowed insistence
That stones should not be cast against a stranger
Just because you never walked a mile
In their blues
Where are the missing pieces that can unite us
Is it still a puzzle?
Original Note: Reflections from Cómpeta, Spain. More to follow. I just need a few minutes to sit on a nearby hilltop and let nature remind me of what it was like before all the humans arrived and jacked things up. Cheers.
New Note: Previously published, no changes made. These were my thoughts on a pensive sunny day in southern Spain, two years ago, looking west and reflecting. My heart aches that my quiet song still remains the same, with The Covid raging and the Republicans still dis-engaging from their sworn oath to represent all of the people, all of the time. Decency has been wounded by the morally-bereft puppets of The Pumpkin, but pumpkins are not the only fruit in the Garden of Life, and I must have faith that the madness will eventually lessen, come harvest time in the November elections.
My apologies to actual pumpkins, who just want to be loved, especially in pies.
Cheers, Part Deux.