Who Chopped Down the Cherry Tree?

Something in the night awakens
when the children sleep deep
down into the caverns of their dreams,
when I wake to the bullet whizzing
and constant tapping of the media’s
microphone pointed right between
my eyes where the sleep should be.
I hide my discomfort and constant
yearning to sit quietly away
from the anxiety surrounding me.

What have we come to? Where
hides the solace? From whom
must we run tomorrow, from
whom must we risk our love
of life, of liberty, of peace of mind.

A lizard crosses my path
scurries up the ailing redwood
finding a niche to hide within.

Can we no longer laugh about
what seemed innocuous before?
No. We cannot.  Only politicians
deride freely. Faith becomes
an act of courage, the cherry
blossom a reminder of what
once was.





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