Poetry

Chill Days, 7 (312.)

The birds sing on high
and the whales sing down low
and the people sing or sigh,
depending on, you know …
As for me, I wish to scream
in elation – sheer, unfiltered joy –
you’ve probably heard it said
or seen it written
at least a dozen times already,
but there is hope again,
there is hope,
democracy may not have died.
There are still
a hundred and more different things
to accomplish,
battles to be won
for the rights of us all,
but the terms and conditions
of our ongoing efforts
will be much more lenient,
I think,
with someone else in that
lauded oval room.
Healthcare, housing, opportunities for all –
we can’t stop
until we get these things, and more,
the work must really
never stop.
This is the beautiful curse
of the human condition.
Keep on keeping on, as they say.
The world can be a billion times better
for its billions of souls,
and I’ll do what I can
to improve it.

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