These Tired Eyes

These tired eyes

have grown weary with their

looking;

looking always

and seeing 

far 

too 

much.

They have noticed

how everyone has become

entitled, to demand the

world perform exactly as

their own script requires.

On the road, all other drivers

are wrong.  

At play, cutting

whit draws blood with little

care.  

In politics, the loudest and

most juvenile tantrum rules

the day.  

We have gloried in

our right to escalate and fan

the fires of ludicrous hatred

and derision.

These tired eyes

need away 

from 

scenes 

of 

malice.

They must needs

away themselves

to the BRAWG of

what dwarfs them

in their viewing.

To BEAUTY.

To RADICAL AMAZEMENT.

To AWE.

To WONDER.

To GRANDEUR.

To the Yosemite. 

To the Yellowstone.

To the Grand Canyon.

To those spaces that

dwarf my sense of me

and aright me in the

universe again.

Me the infinitesimal

being of Neruda's great 

and starry void.

 

Pablo Neruda in 1971. Credit: Twitter

"I, infinitesima­l being, drunk with the great starry void, likeness, image of mystery, I felt myself a pure part
of the abyss, I wheeled with the stars, my heart broke loose on the wind.” Psblo Neruda, One Hundred Love Sonnets