Under Urging Eyes
What do you think of this plastic world
That slowly curls around the edges of our zinc shacks
Our cardboard homes—our grasses of litter
Our houses of ivory and gold.
War-torn, time-worn buildings reach toward the sky—waiting,
Buildings of modern lines and brilliant reflective views—
All waiting—known or unknown, for the urgent need of a different hue,
As eyes still turn from ugly and cowards consume.
So what do you think of this strange world
Where many are cast aside for wearing clothes of a different kind
Where still some stand yet only beside their own
Where some are friends only when the fields are full of silent flowers
Where lovers are truly true just within the moment of their embrace
So what do you think,
For I am yearning to know—
How to paint the world a color yet unknown,
And then know, for sure— that it is true.
For I am yearning for all—
To see through the eyes of creatures, millions they be
of the deep sea, of golden grasslands, of green forests, and lands of sand.
To hear their whispers telling us softly, and sometimes loudly, that nurture lies in nature
and truth is omnipresent through seeing eyes and sleepless shadows.
Outside—inside, many eyes still turn from ugly and cowards consume
All under the urging glare of Mother Earth, and the enduring light of the Cosmos' worth
—speaking, "where are you?"
"Under the moon," goes the reply.
"So am I and all are we."