The Discontent of Summer

Here, and at http://simorghpress.blogspot.com, is the second installment of my Waste Land tributes.  I also revised the first installment posted two weeks ago.  I know, it is a little gloomy, but stick with it: it learns what to say and it ends in peace.

Coming over the Starnbergersee...

A continuing tribute to The Waste Land,
Lines 8-18

And once awake we cannot help but wonder
Who we are and what we want to say.
We feel the rain before we hear the thunder
Whispering a thousand miles away.
Our points of origin are torn asunder,
Separating us from yesterday.
Behind the walls and roofs, within and under
Which we live, we don't know what to say

But on the open surfaces are stories,
Images for everyone to see:
The nakedness of all our twisted glories,
The disgrace of our identity.
We know we ought to stand up and look forward
To the tales untold of dreams to be
But here we are, ashamed of being mortal,
Suffering and wanting to be free.

     Now is the discontent of summer,
     Trying to read ourselves to sleep,

Mourning the loss of where we started from,
Starting to hear the distant thunder drum,

     Now is the discontent of summer,
     Trying to read ourselves to sleep,

Unsure we want to see what dreams may come,
Laying awake when we would rather slumber

     Now is the discontent of summer,
     Trying to read ourselves to sleep.

Dive, thoughts, down to my soul.