We are each
Haunted or blessed
In our waking.
We are all
On a private
Or social
Schedule,
Going forward.
Does the deer
Have trouble
Rousing itself,
Come evening --
With the frightening
Thoughts of hunters
Or mountain lions,
Or home-bound traffic
On too hard streets?
Or does waking
Come easily,
Eager to see
The red sun
In the western sky,
The long, sweet
Face of its
Brother or sister
Again?
Either way
The pack is set
To face the day --
Or night--
And so they
Unbuckle their legs,
Rise,
And crash
Through the forests,
With some level
Of mortal
abandon.
Comments
really nice poem
love the finish,
"And crash
Through the forests,
With some level
Of mortal
abandon."
My take: I would consider beginning the poem "Does the deer"...the poem is complete in itself, and the abstract of us humans is inherent in the natural acceptance of things.
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