The Sun hangs low in the sky
On my early morning drive.
She rises just below the visor
Directly in my eyes.
Just one in a river of cars
Barreling toward the morning Sun
What does the sun do all day?
Does it get to go out and play?
Does she watch the children play ball,
Or the first time they walk or crawl?
I may never know,
Because I only ever see her
Shining directly in my eyes
Just under my visor
On my late evening drive
When the Sun hangs low in the sky.
After months on vicious, roiling seas
A blind man steps into the crows nest
And we ask what he sees.
“Why, an island in the mists,” he cries
And everyone believes knowing it’s a lie
Because the alternative is starvation,
Is loss of control.
But nothing is that easy.
There is no plan, no destiny.
No island, no land.
Too wet to grasp
in a river flowing too fast.
No one is in control.
There’s nothing we can do.
So settle into the calm reality
That even to the best of our ability
We can’t escape that cold inevitably.
Lay back, and float downstream,
Let go of struggle,
Let go of control,
Because we never had it anyway.