The Eye of the Storm

Her picture's in its modest frame,
Upon the mantel, fixed and
Reassuring, as all else blows by.
The price of oil jumps and falls.
A war is being fought, a host
Of wars. Each face one sees
Is seething. Every word one
Hears is sputtered rage. The
World's growing warm, its
Climate and its human beings
Heating up to points where
Almost nothing will remain
Alive. I turn. There's little
I can do. I see the smile on
Her face, and tell myself she's
Coming soon to push the planet
Out of reach, and lead my life,
Like some lost calf, back to
Its modest frame.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 53 times
Written on 2015-02-19 at 12:56

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