I live atop a foothill to mountains of the Cascade Range
and people here keep to themselves whether on busses or on trains;
from my back porch are lights a big city can be seen;
and the blissful aroma of Tacoma remains endlessly lingering.
Strange men and women drive so many different cars, backed up on I-5;
quiet shameful waste of natural resources and an utter waste of lost time—
Displaced in such crowded chaotic madness;
eyes reveal a hopeful truth behind bloodshot sadness.
I can also see such a sight from my front yard,
where tens' of thousands' drive to work very, very hard;
a not so big surprise when homeless men floating that-their sign,
witness cars turn away cheeks denying wrongs with you and too I.
And hope remains prevalent above all other fear; all alone—
So long as we give all our love every day; too each, we call home...
1-05-17
Milton, Washington (United States of America)
A Sonnet contest about where I live, by Silent One...