by J. T. BLEU
I bring doubt and questions to the sight,
From the oceans and the lakes;
I bear the pain of knowing the cause of
Why such falls are not fakes.
From invisible wings I shake off the dew
That woke my mind to sweet buds of
Thought — each brooding spark from my pilot
Who sits in the thunder and lightning
Struggling in howling fits of recognition
As the jagged crag of a mountain appears
At the edge of the falls before dark.
Whenever I dream of waterfalls
Under mountains, trees, or in shopping malls,
My spirit revives in the pale-blue-white mist as
Smiles from the depths of a purple sea;
This land is yours and mine and the nurslings too;
And the eagle aloft may sit by us still
As an earthquake rocks the burning sunrise
With a crimson wall of wave after wave
Of new blood: churning, burning for freedom and
The Love that remains when all is said and done
While my inspiration dissolves into rain.
