Some Little Thoughts

Upon this bed I lie, looking upward into the still, pale blue sky.
I ponder how it came to be, that, in the morning of this day,
I should, once more, marvel at life’s treasures,
Most of which I had not seen for aeons
Until my eyes focused, out of the quietness of the night,
Only to gaze in wonderment: And, without thinking,
I regained some lost sight.

Soft is my pillow pale red, my warm blanket green, I feel content in this bed.
I hear a bird, singing to the break of day;
The breeze moves the thin branches of the poplars;
Life stirs, again, and all living things seem to hum
Those songs, oft-times forgot: Those sweet melodies of the songbird.
Why did I not hear those songs when I could?
My voice, now, too feeble to be heard.

The sun peeps o’er the hill; a rodent scurries in the grass; and, nothing is still.
Another day has begun. It shall be like so many others,
But I never did fully value
The silent miracle that stirs all living things from their slumbers.
How blind had I been in days of yore!
Now, too late, I cannot erase a single comma of my history:
I cannot even cry for my loss of days before.

Man has learned to think and talk, but he can only baulk
When faced with problems of his irascible kind.
He yearns for power, more and more, never understanding
That power is as permanent as a single drop of morning dew.
He bleeds the earth, colours fade in his hands, save for blood red.
For me, these few lines are all I have to offer – sadly;
And so, I rest my weary head upon this bed.

Green grass covers me, my pillow soft, grey sod, but my mind still can see.
Why did I wait to say that which I should have said
Long before I lay down on my final bed?
There is no morrow – because, for me, it shall not come.
While birds and bees forage for food, instead
Man forgets the needs of others: Unwittingly, he designs his end.
Enough! Let me sleep! Now I am dead.