The Innocents


I don’t know the innocents,
Steadfast in their ideals.
Looking at this world with
Certainties of some maker.

They speak of him resolutely,
The blue birds return, the water
Drops rhythmically redolent ‘oer
The falls, the sea beats against

Millenniums of sand, doggedly
Steady as the dog stands,
Ready at its morning bowl,
Day and again day, and again.

I don’t know this constant.
What my knowledge keeps me
From knowing I think aloud,
Loud in rhetorical orations.

Purity of heart, purposed
Ideals serene, a captured
Bird sings in cheerful song
Of life outside its tiny bars.

I am unmoved, unbridled,
Absolved by certain hardening.
Trials, trips, tests, sins of
Every measure, pleasures to be

Treasured, captured or free,
Stiff certitude or glee,
The cleansed or the sullied,
I’ll not be bullied to knowing,

Whither north or south I’m going,
Sides perhaps of the same turn
Of this small cage swinging,
Captured blue bird, springtime

Calling cheerily, I am simply
I am, simply. I, am simply!
Simply my mouth longs to kiss,
Simply I am lover of a god.


About Pitboss14

Cosmic surfer of paradoxes.
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