Behind the drapes of
smog the mountain steals
the glance of the red sun weep
for the injured ones by
the heartless
blackberry thorns,
the mournful sigh
in the window,
resentment of
strivers,
how long one must
endure the under-paid status…
Learn to be a mute of
turtle, now and then,
and the blue patches
will appear over the head,
a trite admonition, yet
true reminder, although
we’d rather keep on searching
for radiance.

By Byung A. Fallgren