The Speaker Who Surrenders

[wheelig]

This is a formless poem. I am writing it because I should be doing other things. Maybe it should be longer, but I have to get to work.

I am the speaker who surrenders

Knowing my words are inscribed somewhere

On the planet’s consciousness

Before me, by a more thoughtful mind

I believe that others should know them as I do

That they never speak them

Not for ignorance, but because the words come to mind

As the sun to the sky;

Frequently, and by nature

So that no one exclaims, “It rises!”

But if they know the words, and see

As I do, why they matter

How is it that battles burn hearts,

Poison sours food,

Nature quietly retires her glory

So that the new children will see pictures of forests,

Watch lions’ ghosts on film

And hate us