You look like nothing more than mere ridges
From the distance where my seat is now at,
And the small twigs I see must be bridges,
Crossing over where the water was spat.
The ground is covered with powdered sugar,
Enticing me with this earthly dessert.
If I could just reach down with my finger,
I could taste the confectionary dirt,
But the breeze blows in the cotton candy,
Obscuring my view of what is below.
I hold in my head, those dreams, so dandy
Of the plane’s cooking television show.
During my trip, it is hard to compete
With the view I see from my window seat.
I know that we are facing our winter,
But the turn of the world has reached spring,
So let’s put behind us all that’s bitter,
And go out and enjoy the blossoming.
We will welcome the rest of the city
As we venture beyond our hobbit hole.
The people will let us join their party
Even though we move only at a stroll.
White will not longer have a bitter chill
As it clings to the tips of the branches.
Guiding our path, we will hear the sweet trill
Of the returning, forgotten finches.
Come my dear, for it may be the last time
we can witness the changing of the clime.
Listen as the wind runs through the cedars,
Telling tales of the Shogun who fought here.
They came to pay respect to respect to their leaders,
And to console them from their greatest fear.
The land was torn apart from civil war
As the blood of men stained the frozen ground.
Many sacrifices were lost to lore,
And only the cedars could hear their sound.
After all the monuments have been built,
And the tourists have come to take their pictures
No on will remember the life blood spilt
Except for the wind running through the cedars.
Will you stop to listen to the tale told,
And the numerous lesson that they hold.
The tourists just do not come anymore,
So it’s not worth our time to open shop.
Instead, let us work our way to the shore,
Letting our responsibilities drop.
Though the winter winds will still sting our face
As it tumbles down from the mountain top,
It portends the coming of summer’s race
When we can reap the green holiday crop.
But the moment now is for us to share
As we can pretend that the word did stop,
Gifting us with more time than we can spare,
Knowing that one day this leisure will pop.
It goes against all Capital reason
To enjoy the fruits of the mud season.
How can I be wrong when I’m always Right?
The problem comes with what is Left behind
After the compromise that comes from a fight,
Leaving the country direction that’s blind.
So I will act like an oak in strong wind,
I will stand tall on top of my lone hill,
And against the tumult, I will not bend,
No matter how much it brings about ill.
So you will begin to see things my way,
Giving me what I deem is Right for all.
Politics is the game I want to play,
Leaving in my wake, what is Left to fall.
I know that my legacy is at stake,
But I will never waver, only break.
Are we required to take the same leap,
In a land that claims freedom from such things?
But in a flock full of minded sheep,
The melodies that everyone sings
Must be bleating just like the one grazing
Next to you in the supple field of grass.
Shepherds will consider it amazing
That not one in their flock will be so cross
As to go off and try it on their own
Instead of emulating their neighbor.
For we must all pray to the same carved stone
Just like they have forced us to do before.
Does our faith come from an accurate voice
When our kind leaders take away our choice?
I will not let the distance get between
The celebration I can have with you.
I will battle to make it to that scene
Where we can toast all that we have been through.
Not even the nastiest of weather
Will deter me from my ultimate goal.
It does not make the trek any further.
Though my ambition I believe it stole,
It only gives me a greater resolve
To plow ahead through the gathering snow.
Any problem you throw my way, I’ll solve.
My way is lighted by the party’s glow.
There is nothing like the final greeting
When it’s your family you are meeting.