Saturday, February 24, 2018

The reporter's political malaise

Who drinks the tide and gives it back?
What voice is this that calls us in the wind?
Whose tears are these that drive the river's rush down to the sea?
How can it be that life moves on
When I am trapped in this dark cave, unable to see or move to
Where the light illuminates a path that might release me from the shadows?
Why can I not imagine myself seeing through your eyes,
     speaking from your heart
     feeling what you feel?
How can I understand what makes you do the things
Which make this universe howl?

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