Rough Atlantic surf near St. Augustine, Florida

 

The wind is up and the surf is rough

I need its roar to quiet my mind

quell my sinking thoughts

(It’s a daily occurrence)

I am seeking peace and clarity

and finding it to be a rarity

Can you hear them again?

The thundering hooves of despots and the pandering peacocks

with  painted smiles

promising

protection

A return to greatness and glory

Making the nation “theirs” again

They’ve created a turbulent uncertainty

and a typhoon of terror

They fracture freedoms of the disenfranchised

Revoke rights and restrict access

Rape Mother Earth in the dead of night

This is not my beloved country

I am not in the land of the free

But there’s still time to be brave

I am swimming with the riptide

Rowing with one oar

( I’ve been here before)

  and racing into the headwinds

in search of a safer shore

Day 18: Part of an undated entry in my writer’s notebook, rediscovered.