FLITTING MOMENT – 5

 

 

Nursing the tatters of his hatred

Like treasured heirlooms

He waits in the dark, contemplating

Gathering anger for the kill

Then down the hill

Came a car with yellow plates

Mother and child

And baby in the back.

This is the way of the world

Innocence must succumb

To feral evil

Three shots at first

To rob the woman of her life

And then the girl, too paralyzed

To ask for death to wait a while

And then

The final stroke of bravery

A shot in the baby's face

And between the cracks of time

That baby's cry should rise to heaven

Or drop to hell

Where even Satan must have cried.

 

 

FLEETING MOMENT 6

 

 

The caterpillar has so many legs,

So many they can hardly agree

To move as in formation;

That's why he moves so slowly

One leg at a time, perhaps two or three

Forward with fastidious calculations

 

In caterpillar's wildest rumination

He cannot think of moving fast, for him

The measure of his speed is feet per hour,

We cannot know his mood or his intention

But moving faster doesn’t have the power

And running is, like flying, only a dream

 

Are we a caterpillar in some way?

Bound to earth, like limping fowl

We do not let our spirit fly and soar

To those majestic regions of the soul

Where time is meaningless, the core

And there bless our maker every day

While waiting what’s for us in store.