Like Salmon
You do not bottle grief,
neither inflict pain on yourself
nor offer blood to the land
nor walk miles of soul searching.
Let your softer side see through
the remnants of all your anger,
tell me your despair and we'll share mine.
It will not eat two years of our lives,
that's not a lifetime of sharing
unlike the salmon that travel
thousands of miles,
moving across landscapes
traversing through seasons,
a homing instinct to spawn
then a sad acceptance of death.
Whoever you are, however alone you feel,
the world caters to sadness,
beckons like the salmon in the wild,
harsh and exciting-
like the ever changing seasons
!
time
and again announcing our place
in the order of things,
a natural space under the sun.
