The Way- A Bit of Poetry

The Way

The way things have gone,

timeworn men and women are keepers at favor’s gate-

with grass green and gold, a view onto a valley with good gravel roads,

it’s these elders who need show perspective,

usher children’s color to new dawn

and rinse freshened rain from orange clouds.

But the way things are now,

those elders are mostly distracted with a predator’s lust for youth-

and with their glimmering rings, real estate, and brand new ovens

(used briefly only during the holidays)

any rain received will quickly run down concrete gutters

toward some foreign sea.

This, the way things will be-

long walks in January snow,

wrathful, aloof and icy with

an intermittent, blind sun in full view to the south.

All the while, our true stock lies just underground,

silently, wisely, reliably outlasting winter’s grey.

Still, the way things have always gone here

and most everywhere above the thirty-fifth parallel

shadows and light will sway like political conscience,

as clear-eyed lovers remain above the fray.

The way will endure, open to seekers

and those petulant enough to become their caretakers-

timeworn keepers at favor’s gate.