Suffering in Beauty
Yesterday,
walking back
I passed
the muttering,
freaks
in the city.
A man covered in filth
kicking a can across the street
screaming profanities.
The can flying
endlessly,
like the kicking.
A woman on her cell phone,
holding a baby,
yelling at someone
who wasn’t paying her support.
I wondered if she even cared about what she was doing
to the eardrums of the child in her arms.
They were both so loud,
so miserable,
so completely insane,
it occurred to me
that it is not enough to have the sun,
or the flowers,
or the sea to gaze upon.
It is not enough to have plums,
and figs, and lemons at your fingertips.
Or to walk in the hills and smell honeysuckle
and eucalyptus at every turn.
Suffering exists,
even in beauty.
2 comments:
I love this poem, the resonance in the truth found in observation. There is so much chaos when we step outside, odd to think it is all happening in nature. It's a push pull, what I used to call a "traffic hug" to avoid the stress and be a part of the larger picture- the natural world. Sometimes we need to just stop, breathe, and open up to a world wider than the ricocheting pinball in our heads. (PS Your music and poetry helps!)
I love this poem, the resonance in the truth found in observation. There is so much chaos when we step outside, odd to think it is all happening in nature. It's a push pull, what I used to call a "traffic hug" to avoid the stress and be a part of the larger picture- the natural world. Sometimes we need to just stop, breathe, and open up to a world wider than the ricocheting pinball in our heads. (PS Your music and poetry helps!)
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