Poem By William Richards
We rage against the Robin's song,
the leaf assaulting breeze,
snarling smiles on the stranger's face,
the menacing sway of gnarled branches
hanging from the trees.
We rage against the pain that strangles
the soul within our breast,
against the soft-warm love, and when I fall,
the pulsing ache that replaced my heart beat,
a Smithy's hammer on the anvil of my chest.
We rage against the imposing breath
which presumes to fill our lungs,
against the searing, glowing orb,
skin warm and summer glow,
nature's devious beauty and surprise,
rising plants and the river's flow.
We rage against the life we set our shoulders to,
against its uncertain, undulating path
and highway robber twists and bends,
enemies it dares us to overcome,
and the bitter loss of friends.
We rage against the life we have
at once glorious, unbearable, feelings
overwhelm us like the incoming tide,
and the powers that debilitate and subdue.
Milling millions dash and blur about,
yet all my eyes are looking for, is you.