I was stricken by a muse this morning, so to you I send this wee poem. It just worked to help me see some things a bit more plainly, I wish the same to you; though as I often say, we shall see. Sometimes, as in the case of the Hubble Telescope (and me!), one must put on some pretty odd lenses to be able to see clearly if your original eye is almost fatally flawed.
Hope was different when I was younger-
words I read seemed toward a different purpose
red dawns I’d seen were portents of a brighter day,
not of storms fast on their way.
the eyes of man to me were seeking some improvement
for themselves and the rest of us surrounding
as swimmers seek not mostly for air, but for better form and speed
I had not yet learned that most sought only to win.
Reading of wars, jealousy and power,
my green mind and hot heart felt something amiss
in those around me, shuffling as though blind to all this,
I did not see the walls between ideal and man.
Running in place, setting my face to meet my own challenge
not only on terms agreed, but on those I felt should be;
the ordinary, the plain. and those high on some Olympus Mons.
The eyes of man to me darkened as I persisted, as the storms coming on.
Now, people seem in a sort of separate peace, having faced their own toothy reality,
some still run, some walk and others have relented to just sit,
While most race for what they have learned to see
and I feel tired before my time, hope was different when I was younger.
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