Telling

Telling you these things
is like telling a thunderstorm
that it is a thunderstorm.
What does it care?
Like the thunderstorm,
you are a force of nature.
And I am a rock, the field of grass.
You move by,
leaving me wet or dry,
hot or cold,
and you move on.

The Blue Light of Early Morn

Watching the blue light of early morn,
I lie quietly in bed,
hardly drawing a breath,
and think about life;
how I'm tired,
and don't belong anywhere.
And suddenly my lungs pull in a deep draught of air -
Oh! The body persists
and I must go on for now,
watching the blue light of early morn.