by D. Caulder
How easy to miss what was always right there,
Grasping at shadows of love, not repair.
Reaching for comfort that’s never quite near,
Lost in confusion, uncertain and clear.
No listening to reason — blame the season instead,
For the moon doesn’t care when you curse its name.
The sun will still rise as the moon fades away,
Unmoved by your anger, untouched by your pain.
Searching for purpose in all the wrong places,
Trusting in promises from hidden faces.
Of whom do you think when you’re making these plans?
“This one, this time,” since no one else understands.
Mistrusting and blaming and plotting — take care;
It’s easy to miss what was always right there.
-D. Caulder