Sorry, I’m stumped again. I think I’m locked into secure and don’t know how to get out.
A LONG STRETCH
The clear melody of birdsong,
a cool, soothing breeze off the lake,
the kitten’s purring, a warm hug.
The poet’s palette offers endless
choices to embrace and call
forth our gentle, loving nature,
for which the poet is revered.
We cannot argue, this is true.
From the same palette, also true:
a rancid stink of depredation
spreads like contagious lava
burning bridges, brutalizing
the senses, and overwhelming
love. How long can both truths endure?
It’s a long stretch between the two.
Or is there a total disconnect?
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