Sometimes

I feel as if, I've lived for years in an outland,
just returned home; everywhere strangers,
myself a hundred-years-old tree.
the next door children, now parents of their children.
only the old man walking the dog, same as before;
the man whose heart monitor wouldn't let him relax,
has to move and move, except the night
when asleep; a little evidence that

most in the world, not a hundred percent good or
bad; why worry so much?
How 'bout be little like the little creature
snuggles on the petal and asleep, let the God
decide its fate of waking, in an enemy's belly.

Absurd, you might scoff, but i need it now, or
might lose more. 


©Byung A. Fallgren