Empathy won't save the trees
that look at me
through shiny leaves
and birds won't cry
with tiny eyes,
their blink's their stutter
and my surprise.
The sun's gold smile
will stay the same,
despite the clouds that cry their rain
to wash the tepid
indifference
from public non-interference.
The sheets won't stain
all by themselves,
they won't complain if she don't tell
the secrets that her bedroom keeps
regardless of the shine he steeps
when he is loving only her,
the tea won't sugar
in it stir
as if an invisible hand
through witchcraft makes a statement stand,
but life will go on always here,
just like the turning axle sphere
that is our world and is our time,
love will find the axle rhyme

and steer the floods of love and lust
and pain and strength and gain and loss
back into prose and into line,
love always the axle rhymes.

Written by Rose Loya, Copyright 2008