(laying by the lake in the adoring sun)
copyright © May 2010 by P. R. Lowe
Somewhere someone’s dying,
someone’s being born.
Somewhere someone’s laughing,
someone’s being scorned.
Somewhere someone’s eating,
someone goes without.
Someone’s full of certainty,
someone’s full of doubt.
Somewhere someone’s dancing,
someone else in grief.
Someone lives in trusting,
another, disbelief.
Somewhere someone’s suffering,
and someone’s on the mend.
Somewhere someone’s flexible,
and others never bend.
Someone’s in the middle
and someone’s at the end,
someone’s at the starting point,
and someone starts again.
Someone’s full of love and faith,
another fear and hate.
Someone’s in the garden
and someone’s at the gate.
Someone’s running,
someone’s walking,
someone’s holding still.
One is in the valley
and one is on the hill.
Somewhere someone’s very big
and someone’s really small.
Someone seems to matter,
and others, not at all.
Somewhere someone’s very rich
and someone’s very poor.
Somewhere someone’s letting go
and someone’s wanting more.
Somewhere someone always wins
to one that does the losing,
somewhere someone always bends
to him that does the choosing.
Weak and strong,
and dim and bright,
sometimes quite confusing,
until you look and see them all
like day is to the night.