Walking All Around

Late night. Tired poem.



These days I roam a restless landscape
with views full of feeling. I lose my way
in a sulky wood where the trees mope
and the forest floor is tangled always in gloom.

I see signs you passed through;
broken branches, damaged bedrock.
You have disturbed all the land
and burned the sorry ground.

I cross plains of apathy
climb peaks of jagged anger
and slip down a despondent gully.
The horizon is unclear.

That river is enraged at your indifference.
This spring gushes to your attention.
your silence leaves a gorge deeply wounded
and the sea dashes hopelessly on an unmoved cliff.

Canyons are aghast because you throw yourself
on thorns. Ruin yourself with rocks
when the country only showed some kindness.
A lake reflects beauty but you see something ugly.

There is a shaken volcano on a fault line
and every day it stops itself erupting.
Just sears and seethes. Grumbles at intervals,
wondering when is the moment to explode.

I wander this sensational territory
and always return to a hillside muddled
with discarded care and cast-out love.
Now where to go?