It will all be okay in the end.
I believe in reason and strength.
I believe in fable and fairytale
and I believe in you.
Hey, you, I’m restless tonight and I want to run,
But so many obligations keep me here.
My skin is like a heavy, wet jacket,
I want to shrug it off and streak in the rain.
But there’s a crowd around, so I slink back and refrain.
And the poets of this age, they say the dark is uninhabited.
They sing about the beauty of being alone.
But when I run through the dark, I can feel your arms around me.
I can hear your voice calling me home.
The rain comes down.
It blesses the dirt and the corn.
The wild cats drink it from puddles.
The maple takes it all in and grows exponentially,
Deepening her roots and spreading her arms.
If we all died tomorrow and stopped holding her in check
Her slow, persistent growth would take down all these human structures.
She would rule over them all.
Now to the harlequin beetle, the drop of rain is a looking glass.
She can touch it and behold her beauty, but it never bursts.
And they say that all these things grew in response to the rain,
That they love the rain because it first loved them.
Now I think that they were made to be loved, that the rain is a gift to them,
But I don’t give a shit which came first,
The gift or the giver,
The fact that they have each other is enough for me.
The poets of this age, they don’t believe,
That we have anyone but ourselves to be grateful to.
So they love themselves and do their honest best to love each other, too.
But I believe in someone else,
That I am not alone in the dark.
That even if my mate and my children,
My mother, my father, my hundred siblings,
All the wide family that has gathered me in, deepened my roots like those of the maple,
Even if they all disappeared tomorrow, I would not be alone, trembling in the dark.
I would eat the wild corn that grew up in fields.
There would be tangles instead of aisles, but the fruit would still be good to eat.
I would share my fruit with the wild cats, and they would come to nuzzle against my hand.
The beetle, she would be my muse.
And the rain would be your arms around me.
We’d run naked and free through the velvet dark.
I believe in you.
I believe in every fairy tale there is a reason,
And every fable is a true story of strength.
And it will all be okay in the end.