If one answer would suggest, love thyself,
another might ask
this is the task
how can one live a mantra they cannot believe.
Next days, next days
Waking to a spring morning, listen
to the song of nature’s messenger
always alive with melody
even while inside our world is tragedy.
Next days, next days
Walk into a burning wreckage, the wreak
of charred lives and memories
abandoned in the crosswind
a smoldering reality of what once was.
Next days, next days
Wake to a morning sun to survey
the ashen remains of yesterday
only to discover nearby
the birds are in song waving their baton.
Next days, next days
The weekend has been spent in hours
a recall of such is pain
to challenge is to refrain
while the neighborhood embraces love
Next days, next days
Ill-defined when confusion speaks
we hear, we haven’t a desire
to listen, to know, to believe
instead we rely upon the sounds
Next days … love in nature.
