That Grayband Quest

"Don't write of the snake,"
says he. "Write of the hunters."
Visions of epics?

Later, she pauses.
An epic for hunters now?
She thinks of the snake.

Who has a choice here?
Ah! The snake chooses to live.
The men choose to hunt.

Who would choose a cage
For a lifetime home? You? Me?
Why would anyone?

She thinks of the snake
Again. Snakes don't think of us.
Is that the answer?

Why must we rule all?
Why not let be? Live in peace.
Archaic but true.

Okay, hunters, here:
What you take is taken away,
What do you give back?

He searches each year
Each year, others find, but not he.
Elusive for him.

If each year, you look
And others find, but not you,
What is learned from this?

Golden-tongued wisdom...
Always around us. Listen...
Let go and hear it.

No one can tell you
But you. Wisdom speaks softly.
Listen with the heart.

In a quiet room
In the dead of night, or noon
Truth awaits each one.

I hear only mine,
Not the truth of other folks.
My heart beats for me.

Snakes lie in their cage,
Or in a pillowcase wait,
For next feeding time.

No one can answer
But the snake what it prefers.
Hard to heart hunters.

Rooting underdogs
Comes naturally for some.
Overcoming all.

Success is like life,
Always in beholder's eye.
I look at the snake.

July 18, 2010