An Old Grump Sees the Sun Rise

One sees what one decides to see,
I tell myself. My curtains are not
Closed, the faintest signs of
Morning showing through the
Maple trees. The daily paper's
At my feet. The world warms.
Another war, a brace of them,
Have just begun. A man is
Killed for being black. A baby's
Body turns up in the trash, as
Those who represent us meet
To stuff their mouths and pockets,
Wink at, pledge allegiance to,
The ones who own both them
And us. A nation, fat and
Diabetic, wheels itself across
Its palace. Every room is empty.
All the furniture was repossessed,
But, somehow, it still tells itself
It's strong and great, as it once
Was, and I see all decaying with
The eyes of one who's growing
Old, despite the brilliance of
The sun, which slowly climbs
The maple trees. The day is
Young, the world still around,
Dew-jeweled and renewed,
And I decide that it is what
I ought to choose to see.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2014-09-18 at 13:05

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