Calm is the passing storm

Calm is the passing storm

from shelter’s mouth I view

Winds that whip the wrestling sea

from shelter’s mouth anew

Are waves which roar like lion’s breath

from shelter’s mouth I coo

How calm it seems the passing storm

from shelter’s mouth I view—a dinghy

in the water struggling, it’s a sailor

so uncouth—a sailor I once knew.

two drifters anew

Their love before friends

as it always begins

then the world spun round

again and again.

Friends for the last

few phases of moon

the universe beckons

neither one to choose.

Spoken rather wisely

alone though in tune

while the world spun again

with nothing to lose.

Eyes look to the West

in Africa too

Eyes look to the East

this Hollywood noon.

There’s nothing to pardon

and no more to do

angelic they parted —

two drifters anew.

We do not want, but accept these things.

Unintentionally rude.

Little disheartened sighs.

Incapable of speech.

And worrisome.

Fearful of what, exactly, is unknown.

Trying not to incite confusion.

Attempts not to quarrel only create greater tension.

Anxiety.

Disdain.

We do not want, but accept these things.

In silence,

there is no argument but a stalemate.

Like a fruitless game of chess.

On egg shells,

we walk,

stiff kneed,

toes clenched,

trying not to crumble.

Trying desperately to surrender.

Our sympathy and concern,

marred by our inability to grasp the others discontent.

We slowly close our eyes.

And wake in the morning,

anew.