World

World

 

     My children’s toys are lay beneath the tree,

A tree placed solemnly in the corner of the room,

And at this time it’s difficult to understand

Where hate perpetuates its claim on many citizens

     And once again,

I am contemplating Earth!

 

     All so many people tending giving

And receiving, for its Christmas time

Upon The West,

We do our best to exchange

Greetings - make friends of enemies

At the request of myths and fables,

Yet looking to the dinner table,

We’re not yet ‘all’ sat around –

Tipping hats and pulling crackers.

 

     Earth has so many here for

All the years she’s turned,

And if we lived upon for only just

One hour, it is said we are upon

A fifty-ninth minute of our own

Existence,

     Our time is running out,

And we still remain persistent

That our point of view

Be the only guiding way,

The only way to be yet,

We cannot summon all around the table.

 

     This world be full of juxtapositions,

Full of axioms and paradox,

Analogies and contradictions,

This world revolves upon

An axis with a wobble,

And like an anagram of her name,

She presents daily puzzles

Within meanings and,

I guess people are in essence

A representation of a struggle,

A struggle to ‘right’ the world

To rewrite given norms and values

That - will one day work for all,

And yet,

     If people could make the change

To a given name

We all retire to upon demise;

If they looked a little closer

At themselves as they entwine

One another in daily living,

They would see within this world,

Within this globe named ‘Earth;’

A ‘kink’ taken for granted,

A kink that has all puzzled

And goes forever never noticed

As we go about our business,

    

     That kink,

Be the true word of The Earth,

For if we were not so distracted

In our lives,

     If we could see the wood

Through the trees

And rise above like angels,

Then we would know the true meaning

Of ourselves and of our way

To be,

 

     A simple viewpoint

Taken at vantage when seeking

Inspiration and looking to our own,

Our one family of man,

Be the truth within her name,

For the truth that puzzles most;

Be the anagram of an Earth confused,

 

     For if we could rewrite the very essence

Of her name, change a simple viewpoint,

We would see,

     The Earth be made from Heart!

 

 

Michael J Waite 25th December 2013.

 

Happy Christmas one and all upon this world.

◄ Growing Up

The Fifty-Ninth Minute ►

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