Questions

foul-hearts game
trumped with an ace
of spades;
is it ever fair
within this thang?

shall we search
for the hyacinth without blame?,
and pick
the magnolia of scented fame --
she, fair as an alabaster moon
in the tolerable skies
of cerulean blue; a pure
cerulean blue,
a stormy-azure cerulean
that glows around the moon’s
halo, shining through my window
as does her glee club of smiling stars,
gleaming as a mid-Spring evening
of late snow crystals,
serious as a mid-Winter
rain.

shall we have fair weather again
like fine feathered friends:
doves playing in the wind,
cardinals flapping their wings,
searching for seed in a fair game of
“survival of the fittest”?

and shall we transcend
like butterflies do
with their cocoons in early Spring,
becoming, perpetually smiling
within the sky’s
cerulean bosom?
and
shall we survive the harsh
of this “dog-eat-dog” potpourri
called humanity?

Copyright © 2005 Jacquii Cooke