Wamber Graves of Maine
Posted: Tue Jul 30, 2013 7:28 am
Amber waves of grain
Gleaming in the morning sun
From the corner of my eye
Gently bend to the rush of on coming traffic
Tenacious weeds scream back at the madness
of slavery and automobiles
Do we listen, do we hear?
Do we punch the wall
or wind up our day with a cup of coffee?
When does this all start to make sense
or at least, not matter?
Why, everyday, do I wake up
and it still matters?
Gleaming in the morning sun
From the corner of my eye
Gently bend to the rush of on coming traffic
Tenacious weeds scream back at the madness
of slavery and automobiles
Do we listen, do we hear?
Do we punch the wall
or wind up our day with a cup of coffee?
When does this all start to make sense
or at least, not matter?
Why, everyday, do I wake up
and it still matters?