Wild Fire
In the rambling wreck of uncertainty
we call day to day life
so far from the predictability we knew
as a child in a far away time
when rivers flowed cleaner and purer,
grass a true green, no additives,
flowers bloomed wild and crazy,
people passed on the street said hell-o
how are you and actually meant it.
Unlike today when simple kindness
is lost to malice aforethought—
new and improved killing fields.
A bullet’s worth more than a life
in Somalia where they carry their guns
as easily as we carry a wallet tucked
into the hip pocket of our jeans.
Wild berries still grow above the tree line,
if only the raven could teach us to fly.
